UC-NRLF 


B    3    35M    5M7 


RD'KiLGOBBiN. 


CHARLES  LEVER. 


LIBRARY 

OF  TH1 

University  of  California. 

GIFT  O  F 


Accession 


No.  {fjJ^S"-    Class  No.   OS'S*" 


AfeTf 


2 


LORD    KILGOBBIN 


5i  Noucl. 


By  CHARLES  LEVER, 

AUTHOR    OF 

'CHARLES  O'MALLEY,"  "THAT  BOY  OF  NORCOTT'S,"  "  BARRINGTON,"  "THE  DALTONS, 
"TONY  BUTLER,"  &c. 


WITH  ILL  USTRA  TIONS. 


wv: 


NEW    YORK: 

HARPER     &     BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN     SQUARE. 
l37  2. 


CHARLES   LEVER'S   NOVELS. 


"  We  hardly  know  how  to  convey  an  adequate  notion  of  the  exuberant  whim  and  drollery  by  which  this  writer 
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convulsed  the  reader  by  their  drollery  and  rollicking  wit,  seems  to  possess  an  endless  fund  of  entertainment." 


The  Bramlcighs  of  Bishops  Folly.     Svo,  Paper, 
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Tony  Butler.     8vo,  Paper,  $1  00 ;  Cloth,  $1  50. 

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per, 50  cents. 

The  Martins  of  Cro'  Martin.    Svo,  Paper,  $1  25. 

Barrington.     Svo,  Paper,  75  cents. 

Glencore  and  his  Fortunes.    Svo,  Paper,  50  cents. 


Lord  Kilgobbin.      Illustrated.      Svo,  Paper, 

That  Boy  of  Norcotfs.  Illustrated.  Svo,  Pa- 
per, 25  cents. 

Maurice  Tiernay,  the  Soldier  of  Fortune.  Svo, 
Paper,  $1  00. 

The  Dodd  Family  Abroad.     Svo,  Paper,  $1  25. 

Sir  Jasper  Carew,  Knt. :  His  Life  and  Adven- 
tures. With  some  Account  of  his  Overreachings  and 
Shortcomings,  now  first  given  to  the  World  by  Him- 
self.    Svo,  Paper,  75  cents. 

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Roland  Cishel.  With  Illustrations  by  Phiz. 
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Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 


Harper  &  Brothers  -will  send  the  above  Works  by  Mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the  United  States, 
on  receipt  0/  the  price. 


LORD    KILGOBBIK 


TO 

THE    MEMORY    OF    ONE 

WHOSE   COMPANIONSHIP    MADE    THE    HAPPINESS    OF    A    LONG    LIFE, 

AND    WHOSE    LOSS    HAS    LEFT   ME    HELPLESS, 

3  Miwh  ififjB  Innk, 

WRITTEN    IN    BREAKING    HEALTH    AND    BROKEN    SPIRITS. 

THE    TASK.,   THAT    ONCE    WAS    MY    JOY    AND    MY    PRIDE,    I    HAVE    LIVED    TO    FIND 

ASSOCIATED   WITH    MY   SORROW  : 

IT    IS    NOT,  THEN,   WITHOUT   A    CAUSE    !    SAY, 

I    HOPE  THIS   EFFORT  MAY  BE  MY   LAST. 


CHARLES  LEVER. 

Trieste^  January  20,  1S72. 


ever — uui.  very  graiHiaiij — ine-proBpeci  rmguienB.  1  111  uner  nines,  ttgniu,  me  neniireTu  inuuini 
Fields  with  incloeares,  and  a  cabin  or  two,  are  to  to  the  old  faith  of  their  fathers  and  followed  the 
be  met  with;  a  Bolitary  tree,  generally  an  ash,  |  fortunes  of  King  James;  one  of  them,  Michael 


IFCS 


LORD    KILGOBBIK 


CHAPTER   I. 

KILGOBBIN    CASTLE. 

S.  ime  one  has  said  that  almost  all  that  Ireland 
possess  s  of  picturesque  beauty  is  to  he  found  on, 
or  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of,  the  sea- 
board; and  if  we  except  some  brief  patches  of 
river  scenery  on  the  "Nore"  and  the  "Blackwa- 
ter,"'  and  a  part  of  Lough  Erne,  the  assertion  is 
not  devoid  of  truth.  The  dreary  expanse  called 
the  Bog  of  Allen,  which  occupies  a  high  table- 
land in  the  centre  of  the  island,  stretches  away 
for  miles  tiat.  Bad-Colored,  and  monotonous,  fis- 
sured in  every  direction  by  channels  of  dark-tint- 
ed water,  in  which  the  very  li-h  take  the  same  sad 
color.  This  tract  is  almost  without  trace  of  hab- 
itation, save  where,  at  distant  intervals,  utter  des- 
titution has  raised  a  mud-hovel  (indistinguishable 
from  the  hillocks  of  turf  around  it. 

Fringing  this  broad  waste,  little  patches  of  cul- 
tivation are  to  be  seen — -mall  potato-gardens, as 
they  are  called,  or  a  few  minis  of  oats,  green  even 
in  the  late  autumn  ;  bat,  strangely  enough,  with 
nothing  to  show  where  the  humble  tiller  of  tin1 
-oil  was  living,  nor,  often,  any  visible  road  to 
these  isolated  spots  of  culture.  Gradually,  how- 
ever— but  very  gradually — the  prospect  brightens. 
Fields  with  inclosures.  ami  a  cabin  or  two,  are  to 
be  met  with;  a  solitary  tree,  generally  an  ash, 


will  be  seen;  some  rude  instrument  of  husband- 
ry, or  an  ass-cart,  will  show  that  we  arc  emerg- 
ing from  the  region  of  complete  destitution  ami 
approaching  a  land  of  at  least  struggling  civiliza- 
tion. At  last,  and  by  a  transition  that  is  not  al- 
ways easy  to  mark,  the  scene  glides  into  those 
rich  pasture  lands  and  well-tilled  farms  that  form 
the  wealth  of  the  midland  counties.  Gentle- 
men's seats  and  waving  plantations  succeed,  and 
we  are  in  a  country  of  comfort  and  abundance. 

On  this  border  land  between  fertility  and  des- 
titution, and  on  a  tract  which  had  probably  once 
been  part  of  the  bog  itself,  there  stood — there 
stands  still — a  short,  square  tower,  battlemented 
at  top,  and  surmounted  with  a  pointed  roof,  which 
seems  to  grow  out  of  a  cluster  of  farm-buildings, 
so  surrounded  is  its  base  by  roofs  of  thatch  and 
slates.  Incongruous,  vulgar,  and  ugly  in  every 
way,  the  old  keep  appears  to  look  down  on  them 
— time-worn  and  battered  as  it  is — as  might  a  re- 
duced gentleman  regard  the  unworthy  associates 
with  whom  an  altered  fortune  had  linked  him. 
This  is  all  that  remains  of  Kilgobbin  Castle. 

In  the  guide-books  we  read  that  it  was  once  a 
place  of  strength  and  importance,  and  that  Hugh 
de  Lacy — the  same  bold  knight  "who  had  won 
all  Ireland  for  the  English  from  the  Shannon  to 
the  sea" — had  taken  this  castle  from  a  native 
chieftain  called  Neal  O'Caharney,  whose  family 
he  had  slain,  all  save  one;  and"  then  it  adds: 
"Sir  Hugh  came  one  day,  with  three  English- 
men, that  he  might  show  them  the  castle,  when 
there  came  to  him  a  youth  of  the  men  of  Meath 
— a  certain  Gilla  Naher  O'Mahey,  foster-brother 
of  O'Caharney  himself — with  his  battle-axe  con- 
cealed beneath  his  cloak,  and  while  De  Lacy  was 
reading  the  petition  he  gave  him,  he  dealt  him 
such  a  blow  that  his  head  flew  oft"  many  yards 
away,  both  head  and  body  being  afterward  buried 
in  the  ditch  of  the  castle." 

The  annals  of  Kilronan  farther  relate  that  the 
O'Caharneys  became  adherents  of  the  English 
— dropping  their  Irish  designation,  and  calling 
themselves  Kearney  ;  and  in  this  way  were  re- 
stored to  a  part  of  the  lands  and  the  Castle  of 
Kilgobbin — "by  favor  of  which  act  of  grace," 
says  the  chronicle,   "they  were  bound  to  I 

becoming  monument  over  the  brave  knight,  Hugh 
de  Lacy,  whom  their  kinsman  had  bo  treacherous- 
ly slain  ;  but  they  did  no  more  of  this  than  one 
large  stone  of  granite,  and  no  inscription  there- 
on ;   thus  showing  that  at  all  times,  and  with  all 

men,  the  O'Caharneys  were  false  knaves,  and  on- 
true  to  their  word." 

In  later  times,  again,  the  Kearneys  returned 
to  the  old  faith  of  their  fathers  and  followed  the 
fortunes  of  King  .fames;   one  of  them,  Michael 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


O'Keamey,  having  acted  as  aid-de-camp  at  the 
"Boyne,"  and  conducted  the  king  to  Kilgobbin, 
where  he  passed  the  night  after  the  defeat,  and, 
as  the  tradition  records,  held  a  court  the  next 
morning,  at  which  he  thanked  the  owner  of  the 
castle  for  his  hospitality,  and  created  him  on  the 
spot  a  viscount  by  the  style  and  title  of  Lord 
Kilgobbin. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  newly  created 
noble  saw  good  reason  to  keep  his  elevation  to 
liimself.  They  were  somewhat  critical  times  just 
then  for  the  adherents  of  the  lost  cause,  and  the 
followers  of  King  William  were  keen  at  scenting 
out  any  disloyalty  that  might  be  turned  to  good 
account  by  a  confiscation.  The  Kearneys,  How- 
ever, were  prudent.  They  entertained  a  Dutch 
officer,  Van  Straaten,  on  King  William's  staff, 
and  gave  such  valuable  information  besides,  as  to 
the  condition  of  the  country,  that  no  suspicions 
of  disloyalty  attached  to  them. 

To  these  succeeded  more  peaceful  times,  dur- 
ing which  the  Kearneys  were  more  engaged  in 
endeavoring  to  reconstruct  the  fallen  condition  of 
their  fortunes  than  in  political  intrigue.  Indeed 
a  very  small  portion  of  the  original  estate  now 
remained  to  them  ;  and  of  what  once  had  pro- 
duced above  four  thousand  a  year,  there  was  left 
a  property  barely  worth  eight  hundred. 

The  present  owner,  with  whose  fortunes  we 
are  more  immediately  concerned,  was  a  widower. 
Maurice  Kearney's  family  consisted  of  a  son  and 
a  daughter,  the  former  about  two-and-twenty,  the 
latter  four  years  younger,  though,  to  all  appear- 
ance, there  did  not  seem  a  year  between  them. 

Maurice  Kearney  himself  was  a  man  of  about 
fifty-four  or  fifty-six — hale,  handsome,  and  pow- 
erful ;  his  snow-white  hair  and  bright  complex- 
ion, with  his  full  gray  eyes  and  regular  teeth, 
giving  him  an  air  of  genial  cordiality  at  first  sight 
which  was  fully  confirmed  by  farther  acquaint- 
ance. So  long  as  the  world  went  well  with  him, 
Maurice  seemed  to  enjoy  life  thoroughly ;  and 
even  its  rubs  he  bore  with  an  easy  jocularity  that 
showed  what  a  stout  heart  he  could  oppose  to 
fortune.  A  long  minority  had  provided  him  with 
a  considerable  sum  on  his  coming  of  age,  but  he 
spent  it  freely,  and,  when  it  was  exhausted,  con- 
tinued to  live  on  at  the  same  rate  as  before,  till 
at  last,  as  creditors  grew  pressing,  and  mort- 
gagees threatened  foreclosure,  he  saw  himself  re- 
duced to  something  less  than  one-fifth  of  his  for- 
mer outlay;  and  though  he  seemed  to  address 
himself  to  the  task  with  a  bold  spirit  and  a  res- 
olute mind,  the  old  habits  were  too  deeply  root- 
ed to  be  eradicated ;  and  the  pleasant  companion- 
ship of  his  equals,  his  life  at  the  club  in  Dublin, 
his  joyous  conviviality,  no  longer  possible.,  he  suf- 
fered himself  to  descend  to  an  inferior  rank,  and 
sought  his  associates  among  humbler  men,  whose 
flattering  reception  of  him  soon  reconciled  him  to 
his  fallen  condition.  His  companions  were  now 
the  small  farmers  of  the  neighborhood  and  the 
shop-keepers  in  the  adjoining  town  of  Moate,  to 
whose  habits  and  modes  of  thought  and  expres- 
sion he  gradually  conformed,  till  it  became  posi- 
tively irksome  to  himself  to  keep  the  company  of 
his  equals.  Whether,  however,  it  was  that  age 
had  breached  the  stronghold  of  his  good  spirits, 
or  that  conscience  rebuked  him  for  having  der- 
ogated from  his  station,  certain  it  is  that  all  his 
buoyancy  failed  him  when  away  from  society, 
and  that  in  the  quietness  of  his  home  he  was  de- 


pressed and  dispirited  to  a  degree ;  and  to  that 
genial  temper,  which  once  he  could  count  on 
against  every  reverse  that  befell  him,  there  now 
succeeded  an  irritable,  peevish  spirit  that  led 
him  to  attribute  every  annoyance  he  met  with  to 
some  fault  or  shortcoming  of  others. 

By  his  neighbors  in  the  town  and  by  his  ten- 
antry he  was  always  addressed  as  "my  lord," 
and  treated  with  all  the  deference  that  pertained 
to  such  difference  of  station.  By  the  gentry, 
however,  when  at  rare  occasions  he  met  them, 
he  was  known  as  Mr.  Kearney,  and  in  the  vil- 
lage post-office  the  letters  with  the  name  Mau- 
rice Kearney,  Esq.,  were  perpetual  reminders  of 
what  rank  was  accorded  him  by  that  wider  sec- 
tion of  the  world  that  lived  beyond  the  shadow 
of  Kilgobbin  Castle. 

Perhaps  the  impossible  task  of  serving  two 
masters  is  never  more  palpably  displayed  than 
when  the  attempt  attaches  to  a  divided  identity 
— when  a  man  tries  to  be  himself  in  two  distinct 
parts  in  life,  without  the  slightest  misgiving  of 
hypocrisy  while  doing  so.  Maurice  Kearney  not 
only  did  not  assume  any  pretension  to  nobility 
among  his  equals,  but  he  would  have  felt  that 
any  reference  to  his  title  from  one  of  them  would 
have  been  an  impertinence,  and  an  impertinence 
to  be  resented  ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  had  a 
shop-keeper  of  Moate,  or  one  of  the  tenants,  ad- 
dressed him  as  other  than  "my  lord,"  he  would 
not  have  deigned  him  a  notice. 

Strangely  enough,  this  divided  allegiance  did 
not  merely  prevail  with  the  outer  world,  it  actu- 
ally penetrated  within  his  walls.  By  his  son, 
Richard  Kearney j  he  was  always  called  "my 
lord ;"  while  Kate  as  persistently  addressed  and 
spoke  of  him  as  papa.  Nor  was  this  difference 
without  signification  as  to  their  separate  natures 
and  tempers. 

Had  Maurice  Kearney  contrived  to  divide  the 
two  parts  of  his  nature,  and  bequeathed  all  his 
pride,  his  vanity,  and  his  pretensions  to  his  son, 
while  he  gave  his  light-heartedness,  his  buoyan- 
cy, and  kindliness  to  his  daughter,  the  partition 
could  not  have  been  more  perfect.  Richard 
Kearney  was  full  of  an  insolent  pride  of  birth. 
Contrasting  the  position  of  his  father  with  that 
held  by  his  grandfather,  he  resented  the  downfall 
as  the  act  of  a  dominant  faction,  eager  to  out- 
rage the  old  race  and  the  old  religion  of  Ireland. 
Kate  took  a  very  different  view  of  their  condi- 
tion. She  clung,  indeed,  to  the  notion  of  their 
good  blood,  but  as  a  thing  that  might  assuage 
many  of  the  pangs  of  adverse  fortune,  not  in- 
crease nor  imbitter  them  ;  and  ' '  if  we  are  ever 
to  emerge,"  thought  she,  "from  this  poor  state, 
we  shall  meet  our  class  without  any  of  the  shame 
of  a  mushroom  origin.  It  will  be  a  restoration, 
and  not  a  new  elevation."  She  was  a  fine,  hand- 
some, fearless  girl,  whom  many  said  ought  to 
have  been  a  boy  ;  but  this  was  rather  intended  as 
a  covert  slight  on  the  narrower  nature  and  pee- 
vish temperament  of  her  brother — another  way, 
indeed,  of  saying  that  they  should  have  ex- 
changed conditions. 

The  listless  indolence  of  her  father's  life,  and 
the  almost  complete  absence  from  home  of  her 
brother,  who  was  pursuing  his  studies  at  the 
Dublin  University,  had  given  over  to  her  charge 
not  only  the  household,  but  no  small  share  of  the 
management  of  the  estate — all,  in  fact,  that  an 
old  land  steward,  a  certain  Peter  Gill,  would  per- 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


mit  her  to  exercise;  for  Peter  was  a  very  abso- 
lute and  despotic  grand  vizier;  ami  if  it  bad  nut 
been  thai  he  could  neither  read  nor  write,  it  would 
have  been  utterly  impossible  to  have  wrested  from 
him  a  particle  of  power  over  the  property.  This 
happy  defect  in  his  education — happy  bo  far  as 
Kate's   rule   W8S  Concerned  —  gave   her  the  one 

chum  she  could  prefer  to  any  superiority  over 
him  ;  and  his  obstinacy  could  never  he  effectual- 
ly overcome,  except  by  confronting  him  with  a 
written  document  or  a  column  of  figures.  Be- 
fore these,  indeed,  he  would  stand  crest-fallen 
and  abashed.  Some  strange  terror  seemed  to 
possess  him  as  to  the  peril  of  opposing  himself 
to  such  inscrutable  testimony— a  fear,  he  it  said, 
he  never  felt  in  contesting  an  oral  witness. 

Peter  had  one  resource,  however;  and  I  am 
not  sure  that  a  similar  stronghold  has  not  secured 
the  power  of  greater  men  and  in  higher  functions. 
Peter's  sway  was  of  so  varied  and  complicated  a 
kind:  the  duties  he  discharged  were  so  various, 
manifold,  and  conflicting  ;  the  measures  he  took 
with  the  people  whose  destinies  were  committed 
to  him  were  so  thoroughly  devised,  by  reference 
to  the  peculiar  condition  of  each  man — what  he 
could  do,  or  hear,  or  submit  to,  and  not  by  any 
sense  of  justice — that  a  sort  of  government  grew 
up  over  the  property  full  of  hitches,  contingencies, 
ami  compensations,  and  of  which  none  but  he 
who  had  invented  the  machinery  could  possibly 
pretend  to  the  direction.  The  estate  being,  to 
use  his  own  words,  "  so  like  the  old  coach-har- 
ness, so  full  of  knots,  splices,  and  entanglements, 
there  was  not  another  man  in  Ireland  could  make 
it  work:  ami  if  another  were  to  try  it,  it  would 
all  come  to  pieces  in  his  hands." 

Kate  was  shrewd  enough  to  see  this ;  and  in 
the  same  way  that  she  had  admiringly  watched 
Peter  as  he  knotted  a  trace  here  and  supplemented 
a  strap  there,  strengthening  a  weak  point,  and 
providing  for  casualties,  even  the  least  likely,  she 
saw  him  dealing  with  the  tenantry  on  the  proper- 
ty ;  and  in  the  same  spirit  that  he  made  allow- 
ance for  sickness  here  and  misfortune  there,  he 
would  be  as  prompt  to  screw  up  a  lagging  tenant 
to  the  last  penny,  and  secure  the  landlord  in  the 
share  of  any  season  of  prosperity. 

Had  the  Government  Commissioner,  sent  to 
report  on  the  state  of  land  tenure  in  Ireland,  con- 
fined himself  to  a  visit  to  the  estate  of  Lord  Kil- 
gobbin — for  so  we  like  to  call  him — it  is  just  pos- 
sible that  the  Cabinet  would  have  found  the  task 
of  legislation  even  more  difficult  than  they  have 
already  admitted  it  to  be.  First  of  all,  not  a 
tenant  on  the  estate  had  any  certain  knowledge 
of  how  much  land  he  held.  There  had  been 
no  survey  of  the  property  for  years. 

"It  will  be  made  up  to  you,"  was  Gill's 
phrase  about  every  thing.  "  What  matters  if  you 
have  an  acre  more  or  an  acre  less?"  Neither 
had  any  one  a  lease,  or,  indeed,  a  writing  of  any- 
kind.  'Gill  settled  that  on  the  25th  .March  anil 
i_'.->th  September  a  certain  sum  was  to  he  forth- 
coming, and  that  was  all.  When  the  lord  want- 
ed them  they  were  always  to  give  him  a  hand, 
which  often  "meant  with  their  carts  and  horses, 
especially  in  harvest-time.  Not  that  they  were  a 
hard-worked  or  hard-working  population  :  they 
took  life  very  easy,  seeing  that  by  no  possible  ex- 
ertion could  they  materially  better  themselves  ; 
and  even  when  they  hunted  a  neighbor's  cow  out 
of  their  wheat,  they  would  execute  the  eviction 


'  with  a  buy  indolence  and  slnggishneBS  that  took 
away  from  the  SCI  all  semhlance  of  ungeneroiis- 

ness. 
They  were  very  poor,  their  hovels  were  wretched, 

[  their  clothes  ragged,  and  their  food  scanty:  but, 
with  all  that,  they  were  not  discontented,  and  very 
far  from  unhappy.  There  was  no  prosperity  at 
hand  to  contrast  with  their  poverty.  The  world 
was,  on  the  whole,  pretty  much  as  they  always 
remembered  it.  They  would  have  liked  to  be 
•'  better  off"  if  they  knew  how.  but  they  did  not 
know  if  there  was  a  "  better  off"' — much  less  how 
to  come  at  it ;  and  if  there  were,  Peter  Gill  cer- 
tainly did  not  tell  them  of  it. 

If  a  stray  visitor  to  fair  or  market  brought 
back  the  news  that  there  was  an  agitation  abroad 
for  a  new  settlement  of  the  land,  that  popular  or- 
ators were  proclaiming  the  poor  mans  rights  and 
denouncing  the  cruelties  of  the  landlord,  if  they 
heard  that  men  were  talking  of  repealing  the  laws 
which  secured  property  to  the  owner  and  only  ad- 
mitted him  to  a  sort  Of  partnership  with  the  tiller 
of  the  soil,  old  Gill  speedily  assured  them  that 
these  were  changes  only  to  be  adopted  in  Ulster, 
where  the  tenants  were  rack-rented  and  treated 
like  slaves.  "Which  of  you  here,"  would  he 
say,  "can  come  forward  and  say  he  was  ever 
evicted?"  Now  as  the  teim  was  one  of  which 
none  had  the  very  vaguest  conception — it  might, 
for  aught  they  knew,  have  been  an  operation  in 
surgery — the  appeal  was  an  overwhelming  suc- 
cess. "  Sorra  doubt  of  it,  but  ould  Peter's  right, 
and  there's  worse  places  to  live  in,  and  worse 
landlords  to  live  under  than  the  lord."  Not  but 
it  taxed  Gills  skill  and  cleverness  to  maintain 
this  quarantine  against  the  outer  world  ;  and  he 
often  felt  like  Prince  Metternich  in  a  like  strait — 
that  it  would  only  be  a  question  of  time,  and,  in 
the  long  run,  the  newspaper  fellows  must  win. 

From  what  has  been  said,  therefore,  it  may  be 
imagined  that  Kilgobbin  was  not  a  model  estate, 
nor  Peter  Gill  exactly  the  sort  of  witness  from 
which  a  select  committee  would  have  extracted 
any  valuable  suggestions  for  the  construction  of 
a  land  code. 

Any  thing  short  of  Kate  Kearney's  fine  temper 
and  genial  disposition  would  have  broken  down 
by  daily  dealing  with  this  cross-grained,  wrong- 
headed,  and  obstinate  old  fellow,  whose  ideas  of 
management  all  centred  in  craft  and  subtlety — 
outwitting  this  man,  forestalling  that  —  doing 
every  thing  by  halves,  so  that  no  boon  came  un- 
asBOciated  with  some  contingency  or  other  by 
which  he  secured  to  himself  unlimited  power  and 
uncontrolled  tyranny. 

A-  <;ill  was  in  perfect  possession  of  her  father's 
confidence,  to  oppose  him  in  any  thing  was  a  task 
of  no  mean  difficulty  :  and  the  mere  thought  that 
the  old  fellow  should  feel  offended  and  throw  up 
his  charge — a  threat  he  had  more  than  (.nice  half 
hinted — was  a  terror  Kilgobbin  could  not  have 
faced.      Nor  was  this  her  only  care.      There  was 

i  Dick  continually  dunning  her  for  remittances, 
and  importuning  her  for  means  to  supply  his  cx- 

.  travagances.  "  I  suspected  how  it  would  be," 
wrote  he  once,  "with  a  lady  paymaster.  And 
when  my  father  told  me  I  was  to  look  to  you  for 

,  my  allowance,  I  accepted  the  information  as  a 
heavy  percentage  taken  off  my  beggarly  income. 
What  could  you— what  could  any  young  girl- 
know  of  the  requirements  of  a  man  going  out 

!  into  the  best  society  of  a  capital  ?     To  derive  any 


LORD  KILGOBBLN. 


benefit  from  associating  with  these  people,  I  must 
at  least  seem  to  live  like  them.  I  am  received  as 
the  son  of  a  man  of  condition  and  property,  and 
you  want  to  bound  my  habits  by  those  of  my 
chum,  Joe  Atlee,  whose*  father  is  starving  some- 
where on  the  pay  of  a  Presbyterian  minister. 
Even  Joe  himself  laughs  at  the  notion  of  gauging 
my  expenses  by  his. 

"  If  tins  is  to  go  on — I  mean  if  you  intend  to 
persist  in  this  plan — be  frank  enough  to  say  so  at 
once,  and  I  will  either  take  pupils,  or  seek  a  clerk- 
ship, or  go  off  to  Australia ;  and  I  care  precious 
little  which  of  the  three. 

"I  know  what  a  proud  thing  it  is  for  whoever 
manages  the  revenue  to  come  forward  and  show 
a  surplus.  Chancellors  of  the  Exchequer  make 
great  reputations  in  that  fashion ;  but  there  are 
certain  economies  that  lie  close  to  revolutions. 
Now  don't  risk  this,  nor  don't  be  above  taking  a 
hint  from  one  some  years  older  than  you,  though 
he  neither  rules  his  father's  house  nor  metes  out 
his  pocket-money." 

Such,  and  such  like,  were  the  epistles  she  re- 
ceived from  time  to  time ;  and  though  frequency 
blunted  something  of  their  sting,  and  their  injus- 
tice gave  her  a  support  against  their  sarcasm,  she 
read  and  thought  over  them  in  a  spirit  of  bitter 
mortification.  Of  course  she  showed  none  of 
these  letters  to  her  father.  He,  indeed,  only  asked 
if  Dick  were  well,  or  if  he  were  soon  going  up  for 
that  scholarship  or  fellowship — he  did  not  know 
which,  nor  was  he  to  blame — "which,  after  all,  it 
was  hard  on  a  Kearney  to  stoop  to  accept,  only 
that  times  were  changed  with  us,  and  we  weren't 
what  we  used  to  be" — a  reflection  so  overwhelm- 
ing that  he  generally  felt  unable  to  dwell  on  it. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    PRINCE    KOSTALERGI. 

Maurice  Kearney  had  once  a  sister  whom  he 
dearly  loved,  and  whose  sad  fate  lay  very  heavily 
on  his  heart,  for  he  was  not  without  self-accusings 
on  the  score  of  it.  Matilda  Kearney  had  been  a 
belle  of  the  Irish  court  and  a  toast  at  the  club 
when  Maurice  was  a  young  fellow  in  town  ;  and 
he  had  been  very  proud  of  her  beauty,  and  tasted 
a  full  share  of  those  attentions  which  often  fall  to 
the  lot  of  brothers  of  handsome  girls. 

Then  Matty  was  an  heiress — that  is,  she  had 
twelve  thousand  pounds  in  her  own  right;  and 
Ireland  was  not  such  a  California  as  to  make  a 
very  pretty  girl  with  twelve  thousand  pounds  an 
every-day  chance.  She  had  numerous  offers  of 
marriage,  and,  with  the  usual  luck  in  such  cases, 
there  w^ere  commonplace,  unattractive  men  with 
good  means,  and  there  were  clever  and  agreeable 
fellows  without  a  sixpence,  all  alike  ineligible. 
Matty  had  that  infusion  of  romance  in  her  nature 
that  few,  if  any,  Irish  girls  are  free  from,  and 
which  made  her  desire  that  the  man  of  her  choice 
should  be  something  out  of  the  common.  She 
would  have  liked  a  soldier  who  had  won  distinc- 
tion in  the  field.  The  idea  of  military  fame  was 
very  dear  to  her  Irish  heart,  and  she  fancied  with 
what  pride  she  would  hang  upon  the  arm  of  one 
whose  gay  trappings  and  gold  embroidery  emblem- 
atized the  career  he  followed.  If  not  a  soldier, 
she  would  have  liked  a  great  orator,  some  leader 
in  debate  that  men  would  rush  down  to  hear,  and 


!  whose  glowing  words  would  be  gathered  up  and 
repeated  as  though  inspirations :  after  that  a  poet, 
and  perhaps  —  not  a  painter  —  a  sculptor,  she 
thought,  might  do. 

With  such  aspirations  as  these,  it  is  not  sur- 
prising that  she  rejected  the  offers  of  those  com- 
fortable fellows  in  Meath,  or  Louth,  whose  mili- 
tary glories  were  militia  drills,  and  whose  elo- 
quence was  confined  to  the  bench  of  magistrates. 
At  three-and-twenty  she  was  in  the  full  blaze 
of  her  beauty ;  at  three-and-thirty  she  was  still 
unmarried ;  her  looks  on  the  wane,  but  her  ro- 
mance stronger  than  ever,  not  untinged,  perhaps, 

j  with  a  little  bitterness  toward  that  sex  which  had 
not  afforded  one  man  of  merit  enough  to  woo  and 
win  her.  Partly  out  of  pique  with  a  land  so  bar- 
ren of  all  that  could  minister  to  imagination, 
partly  in  anger  with  her  brother  who  had  been 

1  urging  her  to  a  match  she  disliked,  she  went 
abroad  to  travel,  wandered  about  for  a  year  or 
two,  and  at  last  found  herself  one  winter  at  Na- 
ples. 

There  was  at  that  time,  as  secretary  to  the 
Greek  legation,  a  young  fellow  whom  repute 
called  the  handsomest  man  in  Europe.  He  was 
a  certain  Spiridion  Kostalergi,  whose  title  was 
Prince  of  Delos  ;  though  whether  there  was  such 
a  principality,  or  that  he  was  its  representative, 
society  was  not  fully  agreed  upon.  At  all  events, 
Miss  Kearney  met  him  at  a  court  ball,  when  he 
wore  his  national  costume,  looking,  it  must  be 
owned,  so  splendidly  handsome  that  all  thought 
of  his  princely  rank  was  forgotten  in  presence  of 
a  face  and  figure  that  recalled  the  highest  tri- 
umphs of  ancient  art.  It  was  Antinous  come 
to  life  in  an  embroidered  cap  and  a  gold-worked 
jacket,  and  it  was  Antinous  with  a  voice  like 
Mario,  and  who  waltzed  in  perfection.  This 
splendid  creature,  a  modern  Akibiades  in  gifts 
of  mind  and  graces,  soon  heard,  among  his  other 
triumphs,  how  a  rich  and  handsome  Irish  girl 
had  fallen  in  love  with  him  at  first  sight.  He 
had  himself  been  struck  by  her  good  looks  and 
her  stylish  air ;  and  learning  that  there  could  be 

!  no  doubt  about  her  fortune,  he  lost  no  time  in 

[  making  his  advances.  Before  the  end  of  the  first 
week  of  their  acquaintance  he  proposed.  She 
referred  him  to  her  brother  before  she  could 
consent ;  and  though,  when  Kostalergi  inquired 
among  her  English  friends,  none  had  ever  heard 
of  a  Lord  Kilgobbin,  the  fact  of  his  being  Irish 
explained  their  ignorance,  not  to  say  that  Kear- 
ney's reply  being  a  positive  refusal  of  consent,  so 
fully  satisfied  the  Greek  that  it  was  "a  good 
thing,"  he  pressed  his  suit  with  a  most  passion- 
ate ardor  ;  threatened  to  kill  himself  if  she  per- 
sisted in  rejecting  him,  and  so  worked  upon  her 
heart  by  his  devotion,  or  on  her  pride  by  the 
thought  of  his  position,  that  she  yielded,  and 
within  three  weeks  from  the  day  they  first  met 
she  became  the  Princess  of  Delos. 

When  a  Greek,  holding  any  public  employ, 
marries  money,  his  government  is  usually  pru- 
dent enough  to  promote  him.  It  is  a  recogni- 
tion of  the  merit  that  others  have  discovered, 
and  a  wise  administration  marches  with  the  in- 
ventions of  the  age  it  lives  in.  Kostalergi's  chief 
was  consequently  recalled,  suffered  to  fall  back 
upon  his  previous  obscurity — he  had  been  a  com- 
mission agent  for  a  house  in  the  Greek  trade — 
and  the  Prince  of  Delos  gazetted  as  Minister 
Plenipotentiary  of  Greece,  with  the  first  class  of 


LORD  KDLGOBBIN. 


St.  Salvador,  in  recognition  of  his  services  to  the 
state;  no  one  being  indiacreel  enough  to  add  that 
the  aforesaid  services  were  comprised  in  marry- 
ing an  irishwoman  witha  dowry  of  -to  quote 
the  Athenian  Hemera — "  three  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  drachmas." 

For  ii  while — it  was  a  very  brief  while — the 
romantic  mind  of  the  Irish  girl  was  raised  to  a 
sort  of  transport  of  enjoyment  Here  was  every 
thing — more  than  every  thing— her  most  glow- 
ing imagination  had  ever  conceived.  Love,  am- 
bition, station,  all  gratified,  though,  to  he  sure, 
she  hail  quarreled  with  her  brother,  who  had  re- 
turned her  last  letters  unopened.     Maurice,  she 

thought,  was  too  good-hearted  to  hear  a  long 
grudge  :  he  would  see  her  happiness,  lie  would 

hear  what  a  devoted  and  good  husband  her  dear 
S|  livid  ion  had  proved  himself,  and  he  would  for- 
give her  at  last. 

Though,  as  was  well  known,  the  Greek  envoy 
received  but  a  very  moderate  salary  from  his  gov- 
ernment, and  even  that  not  paid  with  a  strict 
punctuality,  the  legation  was  maintained  with  a 
splendor  that  rivaled,  if  not  surpassed,  those  of 
France,  England,  or  Russia.  The  Prince  of  De- 
1.'-  led  the  fashion  in  equipage,  as  did  the  Frineess 
in  toilet  :  their  dinners,  their  balls,  their  fetes  at- 
tracted the  curiosity  of  even  the  highest  to  wit- 
ness them  :  and  to  such  a  degree  of  notoriety  had 
the  Greek  hospitality  attained,  that  Naples  at  last 
admitted  that  without  the  Fala/./.o  Kostalergi 
there  would  be  nothing  to  attract  strangers  to  the 
capital. 

Flay,  so  invariably  excluded  from  the  habits 
of  an  embassy,  was  carried  on  at  this  legation  to 
such  an  excess  that  the  clubs  were  completely 
deserted,  and  all  the  young  men  of  gambling 
tastes  flocked  here  each  night,  sure  to  find  lans- 
quenet or  faro,  and  for  stakes  which  no  public 
table  could  possibly  supply.  It  was  not  alone 
that  this  life  of  a  gambler  estranged  Kostalergi 
from  his  wife,  but  that  the  scandal  of  his  infidel- 
ities had  reached  her  also,  just  at  the  time  when 
some  vague  glimmering  suspicions  of  his  utter 
worthlessness  were  breaking  on  her  mind.  The 
birth  of  a  little  girl  did  not  seem  in  the  slightest 
degree  to  renew  the  ties  between  them  ;  on  the 
contrary,  the  embarrassment  of  a  baby  and  the 
cost  it  "must  entail  were  the  only  considerations 
he  would  entertain,  and  it  was  a  constant  question 
of  his — uttered,  too,  with  a  tone  of  sarcasm  that 
tut  her  to  the  heart — "Would  not  her  brother — 
the  Lord  Irlandais — like  to  have  that  baby? 
"Would  she  not  write  and  ask  him?"  Unpleas- 
ant stories  had  long  been  rife  about  the  play  at 
the  Greek  legation,  when  a  young  Russian  secre- 
tary, of  high  family  and  influence,  lost  an  im- 
mense  Bum  under  circumstances  which  deter- 
mined him  to  refuse  payment.  Kostalergi.  who 
had  been  tin'  child'  winner,  refused  every  thing 
like  inquiry  or  examination — in  fact,  he  made  in- 
vestigation impossible;  for  the  cards,  which  the 
Russian  had  declared  to  he  marked,  the  Greek 
gathered  up  slowly  from  the  table  and  threw  them 
into  the  lire,  pressing  his  foot  upon  them  in  the 
flames,  and  then  calmly  returning  to  where  the 
Other  Stood,  he  struck  him  across  the  face  with 
his  open  hand.  Baying,  as  he  did  it.  '•  Here  is  an- 
other debt  to  repudiate,  and  before  the  same  wit- 
nesses also !" 

The  outrage  did  not  admit  of  delay,  the  ar- 
rangements were  made  in  an  instant,  and  within 


half  an  hour— merely  time  enough  to  send  for  a 
surgeon— they  met  at  the  end  of  tin'  garden  of 
the  legation.    The  Russian  tired  first,  and.  though 

a  consummate  pistol-shot,  agitation  at  the  insult 
so   unnerved    him    that    he   missed  :    his    ball   (ait 

the  knot  of  Kostalergi's  cravat.     The  Greek  took 

a  calm  and  deliberate  aim.  and  sent  his  bullet 
through  the  other's  forehead,  lie  fell  without  a 
word,  stone  dead. 
|  Though  the  duel  had  been  a  fair  one.  and  the 
prooes  verbal  drawn  up  and  agreed  on  both  sides 
showed  that  all  had  been  done  loyally,  tic  friends 

of  the  young  Russian  had  influence  to  make  the 
Greek  government  not  only  recall  the  envoy,  but 
actually  the  mission  itself. 

For  some  years  the  Kostalergis  lived  in  retire- 
ment at  Falermo,  not  knowing,  nor  known  to, 
any  one.  Their  means  were  now  so  reduced 
that  they  had  barely  sufficient  for  daily  lite,  and 
though  the  Greek  prince — as  he  was  called— con- 
stantly appeared  on  the  public  promenade  well 
dressed,  and  in  all  the  pride  of  his  handsome 
figure,  it  was  currently  said  that  his  wife  was  lit- 
erally dying  of  want. 

It  was  only  after  long  and  agonizing  suffering 
that  she  ventured  to  write  to  her  brother,  and  ap- 
peal to  him  for  advice  and  assistance.  But  at 
last  she  did  so,  and  a  correspondence  grew  up 
which,  in  a  measure,  restored  the  affection  be- 
tween them.  When  Kostalergi  discovered  the 
source  from  which  his  wretched  wife  now  drew 

!  her  consolation  and  her  courage,  he  forbade  her 
to  write  more,  and  himself  addressed  a  letter  to 
Kearney  so  insulting  and  offensive  —  charging 
him  even  with  causing  the  discord  of  his  home, 
and  showing  the  letter  to  his  wife  before  sending 
it — that  the  poor  woman,  long  failing  in  health 
and  broken  down,  sank  soon  after,  and  died  BO 
destitute  that  the  very  funeral  was  paid  for  by  a 
subscription  among  her  countrymen.  Kostalergi 
had  left  her  some  days  before  her  death,  carrying 
the  girl  along  with  him,  nor  was  his  whereabout  a 
learned  for  a  considerable  time. 

When  next  he  emerged  into  the  world  it  was 
at  Rome,  where  he  gave  lessons  in  music  and 
modern  languages,  in  many  of  which  he  was  a  pro- 
ficient. His  splendid  appearance,  his  captivating 
address,  his  thorough  familiarity  with  the  modes 
of  society,  gave  him  the  entrie  to  many  houses, 

'  where  his  talents  amply  requited  the  hospitality  he 
received.  He  possessed,  among  his  other  gifts,  an 
immense  amount  of  plausibility,  and  people  found 

j  it,  besides,  very  difficult  to  believe  ill  of  that  well- 
bred,  somewhat  retiring,  man,  who,  in  circum- 
stances of  the  very  narrowest  fortune-,  not  only 
looked  and  dressed  like  a  gentleman,  but  actual- 
ly brought  up  a  daughter  with  a  degree  of  care 
and  an  amount  of  regard  to  her  education  that 
made  him  appear  a  model  parent. 

Nina  Kostalergi  was  then  about  seventeen, 
though  she  looked  at  least  three  year>  older.      She 

was  a  tall.  Blight,  pale  girl,  with  perfectly  regular 

features — so  classic  in  the  mould,  and  BO  devoid  of 

any  expression,  that  -he  recalled  the  fac 

on  a  cameo.       Her  hair  was  of  wondrous  beauty — 

that  rich  gold-color  which  has  "  reflets"  through 

it,  as  the  light  fall-  full  or  faint,  and  of  an  abun- 
dance that  taxed  her  ingenuity  to  dre—  it.      They 
gave   her   the    sobriquet    of  the  Titian   Girl  at 
Rome  whenever  -he  appeared  abroad. 
In  the  only  letter  Kearney  bad  received  from 

hi-  brother-in-law  after  hi-  sister's  death  was  an 


Ill 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


insolent  demand  for  a  sum  of  money,  which  he 
alleged  that  Kearney  was  unjustly  withholding, 
and  which  he  now  threatened  to  enforce  by 
law.  "I  am  well  aware,"  wrote  he,  "what 
measure  of  honor  or  honesty  I  am  to  expect  from 
a  man  whose  very  name  and  designation  are  a 
deceit.  But  probably  prudence  will  suggest  how 
much  better  it  would  be  on  this  occasion  to  simu- 
late rectitude  than  risk  the  shame  of  an  open  ex- 
posure." 

To  this  gross  insult  Kearney  never  deigned  any 
reply ;  and  now  more  than  two  years  passed  with- 
out "any  tidings  of  his  disreputable  relation,  when 
there  came  one  morning  a  letter  with  the  Roman 
post-mark,  and  addressed,  "a  Monsieur  le  Vi- 
comte  de  Kilgobbin,  a  son  Chateau  de  Kilgobbin, 
en  Irlande."  To  the  honor  of  the  officials  in  the 
Irish  post-office,  it  was  forwarded  to  Kilgobbin 
with  the  words,  "Try  Maurice  Kearney,  Esq.," 
in  the  corner. 

A  glance  at  the  writing  showed  it  was  not  in 
Kostalergi's  hand,  and,  after  a  moment  or  two 
of  hesitation,  Kearney  opened  it.  He  turned  at 
once  for  the  writer's  name,  and  read  the  words, 
"  Nina  Kostalergi" — his  sister's  child  !  "  Poor 
Matty, "was  all  he  could  say  for  some  minutes. 
He  remembered  the  letter  in  which  she  told  him  of 
her  little  girl's  birth,  and  implored  his  forgiveness 
for  herself  and  his  love  for  her  baby.  "I  want 
both,  my  dear  brother,"  wrote  she ;  "for  though 
the  bonds  we  make  for  ourselves  by  ourpassions — " 
And  the  rest  of  the  sentence  was  erased — she 
evidently  thinking  she  had  delineated  all  that 
could  give  a  clew  to  a  despondent  reflection. 

The  present  letter  was  written  in  English,  but  in 
that  quaint  peculiar  hand  Italians  often  write  in. 
It  begun  by  asking  forgiveness  for  daring  to  write 
to  him,  and  recalling  the  details  of  the  relation- 
ship between  them,  as  though  he  could  not  have 
remembered  it.  "I  am,  then,  in  my  right," 
wrote  she,  "when  I  address  you  as  my  dear, 
dear  uncle,  of  whom  I  have  beard  so  much,  and 
whose  name  was  in  my  prayers  ere  I  knew  why 
I  knelt  to  pray." 

Then  followed  a  piteous  appeal — it  was  actual- 
ly aery  for  protection.  Her  father,  she  said,  had 
determined  to  devote  her  to  the  stage,  and  al- 
ready had  taken  steps  to  sell  her— she  said  she 
used  the  word  advisedly — for  so  many  years  to 
the  impresario  of  the  Fenice  at  Venice,  her  voice 
and  musical  skill  being  such  as  to  give  hope  of 
her  becoming  a  prima  donna.  She  had,  she  said, 
frequently  sung  at  private  parties  at  Rome,  but 
only  knew  within  the  last  few  days  that  she  had 
been,  not  a  guest,  but  a  paid  performer.  Over- 
whelmed with  the  shame  and  indignity  of  this 
false  position,  she  implored  her  mother's  brother 
to  compassionate  her.  "  If  I  could  not  become  a 
governess,  I  could  be  your  servant,  dearest  uncle, " 
she  wrote.  ' '  I  only  ask  a  roof  to  shelter  me  and 
a  refuge.  May  I  go  to  you?  I  would  beg  my 
way  on  foot,  if  I  only  knew  that  at  the  last  your 
heart  and  your  door  would  be  open  tome,  and,  as 
I  fell  at  your  feet,  knew  that  I  was  saved." 

Until  a  few  days  ago,  she  said,  she  had  by  her 
some  little  trinkets  her  mother  had  left  her,  and 
on  which  she  counted  as  a  means  of  escape  ;  but 
her  father  had  discovered  them,  and  taken  them 
from  her. 

"  If  you  answer  this — and  oh,  let  me  not  doubt 
you  will — write  to  me  to  the  care  of  the  Signori 
Cayani  and  Battistella,  bankers,  Rome.     Do  not 


delay,  but  remember  that  I  am  friendless,  and, 
but  for  this  chance,  hopeless.     Your  niece, 

"Nina  Kostalergi." 

While  Kearney  gave  this  letter  to  his  daughter 
to  read,  he  walked  up  and  down  the  room  with 
his  head  bent  and  his  hands  deep  in  his  pockets. 

"  I  think  I  know  the  answer  you'll  send  to  this, 
papa,"  said  the  girl,  looking  up  at  him  with  a 
glow  of  pride  and  affection  in  her  face.  "I  do 
not  need  that  you  should  say  it." 

"  It  will  take  fifty — no,  not  fifty,  but  five-and- 
thirty  pounds  to  bring  her  over  here,  and  how  is 
she  to  come  all  alone  ?" 

Kate  made  no  reply;  she  knew  the  danger 
sometimes  of  interrupting  his  own  solution  of  a 
difficulty. 

"  She's  a  big  girl,  I  suppose,  by  this — fourteen 
or  fifteen  ?" 

"  Over  nineteen,  papa." 

"So  she  is — I  was  forgetting.  That  scoun- 
drel, her  father,  might  come  after  her  ;  he'd  have 
the  right,  if  lie  wished  to  enforce  it,  and  what  a 
scandal  he'd  bring  upon  us  all ! " 

"  But  would  he  care  to  do  it  ?  Is  he  not 
more  likely  to  be  glad  to  be  disembarrassed  of 
her  charge  ?" 

"Not  if  he  was  going  to  sell  her — not  if  he 
could  convert  her  into  money." 

"  He  has  never  been  in  England  ;  he  may  not 
know  how  far  the  law  would  give  him  any  power 
over  her." 

"Don't  trust  that,  Kate  ;  a  blackguard  always 
can  find  out  how  much  is  in  his  favor  every  where. 
If  he  doesn't  know  it  now,  he'd  know  it  the  day  aft- 
er he  landed."  He  paused  an  instant,  and  then 
said  :  "  There  will  be  the  devil  to  pay  with  old 
Peter  Gill,  for  he'll  want  all  the  cash  I  can  scrape 
together  for  Loughrea  fair.  He  counts  on  having 
eighty  sheep  down  there  at  the  long  crofts,  and  a 
cow  or  two  besides.     That's  money's  worth,  girl !" 

Another  silence  followed,  after  which  he  said, 
"  And  I  think  worse  of  the  Greek  scoundrel  than 
all  the  cost." 

"Somehow,  I  have  no  fear  that  he'll  come 
here." 

"You'll  have  to  talk  over  Peter,  Kitty" — he 
always  said  Kitty  when  he  meant  to  coax  her. 
"  He'll  mind  you,  and  at  all  events  you  don't 
care  about  his  grumbling.  Tellium  it's  a  sud- 
den call  on  me  for  railroad  shares,  or" — and  here 
he  winked  knowingly — "say,  it's  going  to  Rome 
the  money  is,  and  tor  the  Pope!" 

"That's  an  excellent  thought,  papa,"  said  she, 
laughing;  "I'll  certainly  tell  him  the  money  is 
going  to  Rome,  and  you'll  wrrite  soon — you  see 
with  what  anxiety  she'  expects  your  answer." 

"  I'll  write  to-night  when  the  house  is  quiet, 
and  there's  no  racket  nor  disturbance  about  me." 
Now,  though  Kearney  said  this  with  a  perfect  con- 
viction of  its  truth  and  reasonableness,  it  would 
have  been  very  difficult  for  any  one  to  say  in 
what  that  racket  he  spoke  of  consisted,  or  where- 
in the  quietude  of  even  midnight  was  greater  than 
that  which  prevailed  there  at  noonday.  Never, 
perhaps,  were  lives  more  completely  still  or  mo- 
notonous than  theirs.  People  who  derive  no  in- 
terests from  the  outer  world,  who  know  nothing 
of  what  goes  on  in  life,  gradually  subside  into  a 
condition  in  which  reflection  takes  the  place  of 
conversation,  and  lose  all  zest  and  all  necessity  for 
that  small-talk  which  serves,  like  the  changes  of 


1.0111)  KILliOHHIN. 


11 


a  game,  to  while  away  time,  and  by  the  aid  of 
which,  if  we  do  no  more,  we  often  delude  the 
cares  and  worries  of  existence. 

A  kind  good-morning  when  they  met,  ami  a 
few  words  during  the  day — some  mention  of  this 
or  that  e\ent  of  the  farm  or  the  laborers,  and  rave 
enough,  too — some  little  incident  that  happened 
among  the  tenants,  made  all  the  materials  of  their 
intercourse,  and  tilled  up  lives  which  either  would 
very  freely  have  owned  were  tar  from  unhappy. 

Dick,  indeed,  when  he  came  home  and  was 
weather-hound  for  a  day.  did  lament  his  sad  des- 
tine, and  mutter  half-intelligible  nonsense  of  what 
he 'would  not  rather  do  than  descend  to  such  a 
melancholy  existence ;  but  in  all  his  complainings 
he  never  made  Kate  discontented  with  her  lot.  or 
desire  any  thing  beyond  it. 

"It's  Idl  very  well."  he  would  say,  "till  you 
know  something  better." 
"  But  I  want  no  better!" 
"  Do  you  mean  you'd  like  to  go  through  life  in 
this  fashion?" 

••I  can't  pretend  to  say  what  I  may  feel  as  I 
grow  older:  but  if  I  could  be  sure  to  be  as  I  am 
now.  I  could  ask  nothing  better." 

"I  must  say,  it's  a  very  inglorious  life,"  said 
he.  with  a  sneer. 

••So  it  is,  but  how  many,  may  I  ask,  are  there 
who  lead  glorious  lives  ?  "  Is  there  any  glory  in 
dining  out,  in  dancing,  visiting,  and  picnicking? 
Where  is  the  great  glory  of  the  billiard-table  or  the 
croquet-lawn  ?  No,  no,  my  dear  Dick,  the  only 
glory  that  falls  to  the  share  of  such  humble  folks 
a-  we  are  is  to  have  something  to  do,  and  to  do  it." 
Such  were  the  sort  of  passages  would  now  and 
then  occur  between  them — little  contests,  he  it 
said,  in  which  she  usually  came  off  the  conqueror. 
If  she  were  to  have  a  wish  gratified,  it  would 
have  been  a  few  more  books — something  besides 
those  odd  volumes  of  Scott's  novels.  '•Zeluco"  by 
Doctor  Moore,  and  "Florence  M'Carthy,"  which 
comprised  her  whole  library,  and  which  she  read 
over  and  over  unceasingly.  She  was  now  in  her 
usual  place — a  deep  window-seat — intently  occu- 
pied with  Amy  Robsart's  sorrows,  when  her  fa- 
ttier came  to  read  what  he  had  written  in  answer 
to  Nina.  If  it  was  very  brief,  it  was  very  affec- 
tionate. II  told  her  in  a  few  words  that  she  had 
no  need  to  recall  the  ties  of  their  relationship ; 
that  his  heart  never  ceased  to  remind  him  of 
them :  that  his  home  was  a  very  dull  one,  but 
that  her  cousin  Kate  would  try  and  make  it  a 
happy  one  to  her;  entreated  her  to  confer  witli 
the  banker,  to  whom  he  remitted  forty  pounds,  in 
what  way  she  could  make  the  journey,  since  he 
was  too  broken  in  health  himself  to  go  and  fetch 
her.  "  It  is  a  bold  step  I  am  counseling  you  to 
take.  It  is  no  light  thing  to  quit  a  father's  home, 
and  I  have  my  misgivings  how  far  I  am  a  wise 
adviser  in  recommending  it.  There  is,  however, 
a   present  peril,  and  I  must  try.  if  1  can.  to  save 

von  from  it.     Perhaps,  in  my  Old-World  notions, 

I  attach  to  the  thought  of  the  stage  ideas  that 
you  would  only  smile  at  ;  but  none  of  our  race, 
so  far  as  I  know,  fell  to  that  condition — nor  must 
you,  while  I  have  a  roof  to  shelter  you. 

"If  you  would  write,  and  say  about  what  time 
I  might  expect  you,  I  would  try  to  meet  you  on 
your  landing  in  England  at  Dover. 

"Kate  sends  you  her  warmest  love,  and  longs 
to  see  you." 

This  was  the  whole  of  it.     But  a  brief  line  to 


the  bankers    said   that    am    expense   they  judged 

needful  to  her  safe  convoy  across  Europe  would 
be  gratefully  repaid  by  him. 

••Is  it  all  right, dear?     Have  1  forgotten  any 

thing?"  asked  he.  as  Kate  read  it  oxer. 

"It's  every  thing, papa— ever]  thing.     And  I 

do  long  to  see  her." 

"I  hope  she's  like  .Mattie  -if  she's  only  like 
her  poor  mother,  it  will  make  my  heart  young 
again  to  look  at  her." 


CHAPTER  III. 

"the    chums." 

In-  that  old  square  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin, 
one  side  of  which  fronts  the  Park,  and  in  cham- 
bers on  the  ground-floor,  an  oak  door  bore  the 
names  of  "  Kearney  and  At  lee." 

Kearney  was  the  son  of  Lord  Kilgobhin  ;  Atlee, 
his  chum,  the  son  of  a  Presbyterian  minister  in 
the  north  of  Ireland,  had  been  four  years  in  the 
university,  but  was  still  in  his  freshman  period, 
not  from  any  deficiency  of  scholar-like  ability  to 
push  on,  but  that,  as  the  poet  of  the  "Seasons'' 
lay  in  bed  because  he  "had  no  motive  for  ris- 
ing," Joe  Atlee  felt  that  there  need  be  no  ur- 
gency about  taking  a  degree  which,  when  he  had 
got,  be  should  be  sorely-  puzzled  to  know  what 
to  do  with.  He  was  a  clever,  ready-witted,  but 
capricious  fellow,  fond  of  pleasure,  and  self-in- 
dulgent to  a  degree  that  ill  suited  his  very  small- 
est of  fortunes  ;  for  his  father  was  a  poor  man, 
with  a  large  family,  and  had  already  embarrassed 
himself  heavily  by  the  cost  of  sending  his  eldest 
son  to  the  university.  Joe's  changes  of  purpose 
— for  he  had  in  succession  abandoned  law  for 
medicine,  medicine  for  theology,  and  theology  for 
civil  engineering,  and,  finally,  gave  them  all  up 
— had  so  outraged  his  father  that  he  declared  he 
would  not  continue  any  allowance  to  him  beyond 
the  present  year;  to  which  Joe  replied  by  the 
same  post,  sending  back  the  twenty  pounds  in- 
closed him,  and  saying  :  "The  only  amendment 
I  would  make  to  your  motion  is  as  to  the  date 
— let  it  begin  from  to-day.  I  suppose  I  shall 
have  to  swim  without  corks  some  time.  I  may 
as  well  try  now  as  later  on." 

The  first  experience  of  his  "  swimming  without 
»corks"  was  to  lie  in  bed  two  days  and  smoke  ; 
the  next  was  to  rise  at  daybreak  and  set  out  on 
a  long  walk  into  the  country,  from  which  he  re- 
turned late  at  night,  wearied  and  exhausted,  hav- 
ing eaten  but  once  during  the  day. 

Kearney,  dressed  for  an  evening  party,  re- 
splendent with  jewelry,  essenced  and  curled,  was 
about  to  issue  forth,  when  Atlee,  dusty  and  way- 
worn, entered  and  threw  himself  into  a  chair. 

"  What  lark  have  you  been  on.  Master  Joe?" 
he  said.  "  I  have  not  seen  you  for  three  days, 
if  not  four." 

"No;  I've  begun  to  train,"  said  be,  gravely. 
"  I  want  to  see  how  long  a  fellow  could  hold  on 
to  life,  on  three  pipes  of  Cavrndi-h  per  diem.  1 
take  it  that  the  absorbents  won't  be  more  Crn<  1 
than  a  man's  creditors,  ami  will  not  issue  a  dis- 
traint where  there  are  no  assets,  so  that  probably 
by  the  time  I  shall  have  brought  myself  down 
to,  let  us  say,  seven  stone  weight,  1   shall   have 

reached  the  goal." 

This  speech  he  delivered  slowly  and  calmly, 
as  though  enunciating  a  very  grave  proposition. 


12 

"  What  new  nonsense  is  this?  Don't  you 
think  health  worth  something  ?" 

"Next  to  life,  unquestionably  :  but  one  condi- 
tion of  health  is  to  be  alive,  and  I  don't  see  how 
to  manage  that.  Look  here,  Dick,  I  have  just 
had  a  quarrel  with  my  father ;  he  is  an  excellent 
man  and  an  impressive  preacher,  but  he  fails  in 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


way    they   neglect    arithmetic   in    our   modern 

schools ! " 

"  Has  he  reduced  your  allowance  ?" 

"  He  has  done  more,  he  has  extinguished  it." 

"  Have  you  provoked  him  to  this  ?" 

"I  have  provoked  him  to  it." 

"But  is  it  not  possible  to  accommodate  mat- 


the  imaginative  qualities.  Nature  has  been  a 
niggard  to  him  in  inventiveness.  He  is  the 
minister  of  a  little  parish  called  Aghadoe,  in  the 
North,  where  they  give  him  two  hundred  and 
ten  pounds  per  annum.  They  are  eight  in  fam- 
ily, and  he  actually  doesn't  see  his  way  to  allow 
me  one  hundred  and  fifty  out  of  it.     That's  the 


ters  ?     It  should  not  be  very  difficult,  surely,  tc 
show  him  that  once  you  are  launched  in  life — " 

"And  when  will  that  be,  Dick?"  broke  in  the 
other.  "I  have  been  on  the  stocks  these  four 
years,  and  that  launching  process  you  talk  of 
looks  just  as  remote  as  ever.  No,  no  ;  let  us  be 
fair.     He  has  all  the  right  on  his  side ;  all  the 


LORD  KDLGOBBIN. 


13 


wrong  is  on  mine.  Indeed,  so  far  as  conscience 
goes,  I  have  always  felt  it  so;  Imt  ours  con- 
science,  like  one's  boots,  gets   so  pliant  from 

wear  that  it  ceases  to  give  pain.  Still,  on  my 
honor,  I  never  hip-hurrahed  to  a  toast  that  I  did 
not  feel,  there  goes  broken  boots  to  one  of  the 
boys,  or,  worse  again,  the  cost  of  a  cotton  dress 

for  one  of  the  si-ters.  Whenever  I  took  a  sher- 
ry-cobbler, I  thought  of  suicide  after  it.  Self-in- 
dulgence and  self-reproach  got  linked  in  my  na- 
ture mi  inseparably  it  was  hopeless  to  summon 
one  without  the  other,  till  at  last  I  grew  to  be- 
lieve it  was  very  heroic  in  me  to  deny  myself 
nothing,  seeing  how  sorry  I  should  be  for  it  aft- 
erward. But  come,  old  fellow,  don't  lose  your 
evening :  well  have  time  enough  to  talk  over 
these  things — where  are  you  going?" 

"To  the  Clancy.-'." 

"  To  be  sure  ;  what  a  fellow  I  am  to  forget  it 
was  Letty's  birthday,  and  1  was  to  have  brought 
her  a  bouquet !  Dick,  be  a  good  fellow,  and  tell 
her  some  lie  or  other — that  I  was  sick  in  bed.  or 
a'way  to  see  an  aunt  or  a  grandmother,  and  that 
I  had  a  splendid  bouquet  for  her,  but  wouldn't 
let  it  reach  her  through  other  hands  than  my  own, 
hut  to-morrow — to>-morrow  she  shall  have  it." 

'•  You  know  well  enough  you  don't  mean  any 
thing  of  the  sort." 

"On  my  honor,  I'll  keep  my  promise.  I've 
an  old  silver  watch  yonder — I  think  it  knows  the 
way  to  the  pawn-office  by  itself.  There,  now  be 
oft';  for  if  I  begin  to  think  of  all  the  fun  you're 
going  to.  I  shall  just  dress  and  join  you." 

"No,  I'd  not  do  that,"  said  Dick,  gravely; 
"nor  shall  I  stay  long  myself.  Don't  go  to  bed, 
Joe,  till  I  come  back.     Good-by." 

"Say  all  good  and  sweet  things  to  Letty  for 
me.  Tell  her — "  Kearney  did  not  wait  for  his 
message,  but  hurried  down  the  steps  and  drove 

oft. 

Joe  sat  down  at  the  fire,  filled  his  pipe,  looked 
steadily  at  it,  and  then  laid  it  on  the  mantel- 
piece. "Mb,  no.  Master  Joe.  You  must  be 
thrifty  now.  You  have  smoked  twice  since — I 
can  afford  to  say  —  since  dinner-time,  for  you 
haven't  dined.  It  is  strange,  that  now  the  sense 
of  hunger  has  passed  off.  what  a  sense  of  excite- 
ment I  feel.  Two  hours  back  I  could  have  been 
a  cannibal.  I  believe  I  could  have  eaten  the 
vice-provost — though  I  should  have  liked  him 
strongly  deviled  —  and  now  I  feel  stimulated. 
Hence  it  is,  perhaps,  that  so  little  wine  is  enough 
to  affect  the  heads  of  starving  people — almost 
maddening  them.  Perhaps  Dick  suspected  some- 
thing of  this,  for  he  did  not  care  that  I  should  go 
along  with  him.  Who  knows  but  he  may  have 
thought  the  sight  of  a  supper  might  have  over- 
come me?  If  he  knew  but  all.  I'm  much  more 
disposed  to  make  love  to  Lctty  Clancy  than  to  go 
in  for  galantine  and  Champagne.  By-the-way, 
I  wonder  if  the  physiologists  are  aware  of  that  ? 
It  is,  perhaps,  what  constitutes  the  ethereal  con- 
dition of  love.  I'll  write  an  essay  on  that,  or, 
better  still,  I'll  write  a  review  of  an  imaginary 

French  essay.  Frenchmen  arc  permitted  to  say 
so  much  more  than  we  are.  and  I'll  be  rebukeful 
on  the  score  of  his  excesses.  The  bitter  way  in 
which  a  Frenchman  always  visits  his  various  in- 
capacities— whether  it  be  to  know  something,  or 
to  do  something,  or  to  be  something  —  on  the 
species  he  belongs  to;  the  way  in  which  be  sug- 
gests that,  had  he  been  consulted  on  the  matte*. 


'humanity  hail  been  a  much  more  perfect  organi- 
zation, and  able  to  sustain  a  great  ileal  more  of 

wickedness  without   disturbance,  is  great   fun. 

I'll  certainly  invent  a  Frenchman  and  make  him 
an  author,  and  then  demolish   him.      What  it    I 

make  him  die  of  hunger,  having  tasted  nothing 

tor  eight  days  but  the  proof-sheets  of  his  great 
work— the  work  I  am  then  reviewing.  For  four 
days — but  stay  ; — if  I  starve  him  to  death,  I  can 
not  tear  his  work  to  pieces.  No;  he  shall  he 
alive,  living  in  splendor  and  honor,  a  frequenter 
of  the  Tuileries,  a  favored  guest  at  Compiegne." 
Without  perceiving  it,  he  had  now  taken  hi. 
pipe,  lighted  it,  and  was  smoking  away.  "  l!v- 
the-way.  how  those  same  Imperialists  have  played 

the  game!  the  two  or  three  middle-aged  men.  that 
Kinglake  says  'Put  their  heads  together  to  plan 

for  a  livelihood,' I  wish  they  had  taken  me  into 
the  partnership.  It's  the  sort  of  thing  I'll  have 
liked  well  ;  ay,  and  I  could  have  done  it  too!  I 
wonder,"  said  he,  aloud — "  I  wonder,  if  I  were  an 
emperor,  should  I  marry  Lctty  Clancy  ?  I  sus- 
pect not.  Letty  would  have  been  flippant  as  an 
empress,  and  her  cousins  would  have  made  atro- 
cious princes  of  the  imperial  family,  though,  for 
the  matter  of  that — Halloo!  Here  have  I  been 
smoking  without  knowing  it  !  Can  any  one  tell 
us  whether  the  sins  we  do  inadvertently  count  as 
sins,  or  do  we  square  them  off  by  our  inadvertent 
good  actions?  I  trust  I  shall  not  be  called  on 
to  catalogue  mine.  There,  my  courage  is  out!" 
As  he  said  this  he  emptied  the  ashes  of  his  pipe, 
i  and  gazed  sorrowfully  at  the  empty  bowl. 

"Now,  if  I  were  the  son  of  some  good  house, 
with  a  high-sounding  name  and  well-to-do  rela- 
tions, I'd  soon  bring  them  to  terms  if  they  dared 
to  cast  me  off.  I'd  turn  milk  or  muffin  man, 
and  serve  the  street  they  lived  in.  I'd  sweep  the 
crossing  in  front  of  their  windows,  or  I'd  com- 
mit a  small  theft,  and  call  on  my  high  connections 
for  a  character — but  being  who  and  what  I  am, 
I  might  do  any  or  till  of  these,  and  shock  nobody. 

•"Now,  to  take  stock  of  my  effects.  Let  me 
see  what  my  assets  will  bring  when  reduced  to 
cash,  for  this  time  it  shall  be  a  sale."  And  he 
turned  to  a  table  where  paper  and  pens  were  ly- 
ing, and  proceeded  to  write.  '•  Personal,  sworn 
under,  let  us  say,  ten  thousand  pounds.  Litera- 
ture first.  To  divers  worn  copies  of  'Virgil,' 
'Tacitus,'  'Juvenal,' and  'Ovid,'  'Caesar's  Com- 
mentaries,' and  'Catullus;'  to  ditto  ditto  of 
'Homer,'  'Lucian.'  'Aristophanes,'  'Balzac,! 
'Anacreon,'  Bacon's  'Essays,'  and  Moore's 
'  Melodies ;'  to D wight's  'Theology'— uncut  copy, 
I  bane's '  Poems' — very  much  thumbed.  '  Saint  Si- 
mon'— very  ragged,  two  volumes  of  'Les  Causes 
<  Vlrbres,'  Tone's  'Memoirs,'  and  Be  anger's 
'Songs;'  to  ('uvier's  'Comparative  Anatomy,' 
'Shroaderon  Shakspeare,'  Newman's  'Apology,' 
Archbold's  'Criminal  Law,'  and  'Songs  of  the 
Nation  :'  tot  lolenso,  'East's  Cases  for  the  Crown.' 
Carte's  'Ormonde,'  and  'Pickwick.'     I'm  why 

g ?    Let  u-  call  it  the  small  but  well-selecte  1 

library  of  a  distressed  gentleman,  whose  cultivated 
mind  i-  reflected  in  the  marginal  notes  with  which 
these  volumes  abound.     Will  any  gentleman  Bay, 

'  £10  for  the  lot  ?'  Why.  the  very  eritici-nis  are 
worth — I  mean   to  a  man  of  literary  taste 

tine-  the  amount,     No  offer  at  fin?     Who  is 

that  says  'five?'  I  trust  my  ear-  have  deceived 
me.  You  repeat  the  insulting  proposal  ?  Well, 
Sir,  on  your  own  head  be  it !     Mr.  Atlee's  libra- 


u 


LOED  KILGOBBIN. 


ry — or  the  Atlee  collection  is  better — was  yester- 
day disposed  of  to  a  well-known  collector  of  rare 
books,  and,  if  we  are  rightly  informed,  for  a  mere 
fraction  of  its  value.  Never  mind,  Sir,  I  bear 
you  no  ill-will !  I  was  irritable  ;  and  to  show  you 
my  honest  animus  in  the  matter,  I  beg  to  present 
you,  in  addition,  with  this,  a  handsomely  bound 
and  gilt  copy  of  a  sermon  by  the  Kev.  Isaac 
Atlee,  on  the  opening  of  the  new  meeting-house 
in  Coleraine- — a  discourse  that  cost  my  father 
some  sleepless  nights,  though  I  have  heard  the 
etfect  on  the  congregation  was  dissimilar. 

' '  The  pictures  are  few.  Cardinal  Cullen,  I 
believe,  is  Kearney's  ;  at  all  events,  he  is  the 
worse  for  being  made  a  target  for  pistol-firing, 
and  the  archiepiscopal  nose  has  been  sorely  dam- 
aged. Two  views  of  Killarney  in  the  weather 
of  the  period — that  means  July — and  raining  in 
torrents,  and  consequently  the  scene,  for  aught 
discoverable,  might  be  the  Gaboon.  Portrait  of 
Joe  Atlee,  aetatis  four  years,  with  a  villainous 
squint,  and  something  that  looks  like  a  plug  in 
the  left  jaw.  A  Skye  terrier,  painted,  it  is  sup- 
posed, by  himself;  not  to  recite  unframed  prints 
of  various  celebrities  of  the  ballet,  in  accustomed 
attitudes ;  with  the  Rev.  Paul  Bloxham  blessing 
some  children — though,  from  the  gesture  and  the 
expression  of  the  juveniles,  it  might  seem  cuffing 
them — on  the  inauguration  of  the  Sunday-school 
at  Kilmurry  Macmacmahon. 

"  Lot  three,  interesting  to  anatomical  lecturers 
and  others,  especially  those  engaged  in  paleontol- 
ogy. The  articulated  skeleton  of  an  Irish  giant, 
representing  a  man  who  must  have  stood  in  his 
no-stockings  eight  feet  four  inches.  This,  I  may 
add,  will  be  warranted  as  authentic,  in  so  far  that 
I  made  him  myself  out  of  at  least  eighteen  or 
twenty  big  specimens,  with  a  few  slight  '  diver- 
gencies,' I  may  call  them,  such  as  putting  in 
eight  more  dorsal  vertebrae  than  the  regulation, 
and  that  the  right  femur  is  two  inches  longer 
than  the  left.  The  inferior  maxillary  too  was 
stolen  from  a  'Pithacus  Satyrus,'  in  the  Cork 
museum,  by  an  old  friend,  since  transported  for 
Fenianism.  These  blemishes  apart,  he  is  an  ad- 
mirable giant,  and  fully  as  ornamental  and  use- 
ful as  the  species  generally. 

"As  to  my  wardrobe,  it  is  less  costly  than 
curious.  An  alpaca  paletot  of  a  neutral  tint, 
which  I  have  much  affected  of  late,  having  indis- 
posed me  to  other  wear.  For  dinner  and  even- 
ing duty  I  usually  wear  Kearney's,  though  too 
tight  across  the  chest,  and  short  in  the  sleeves. 
These,  with  a  silver  watch  which  no  pawnbroker 
— and  I  have  tried  eight — will  ever  advance  more 
on  than  seven-and-six.  I  once  got  the  figure  up 
to  nine  shillings  by  supplementing  an  umbrella 
which  was  Dick's,  and  which  still  remains,  '  un- 
claimed and  unredeemed.' 

' '  Two  o'clock,  by  all  that  is  supperless !  evi- 
dently Kearney  is  enjoying  himself.  Ah,  youth, 
youth !  I  wish  I  could  remember  some  of  the 
spiteful  things  that  are  said  of  you — not  but  on 
the  whole,  I  take  it,  you  have  the  right  end  of 
the  stick.  Is  it  possible  there  is  nothing  to  eat 
in  this  inhospitable  mansion  ?"  He  arose  and 
opened  a  sort  of  cupboard  in  the  wall,  scrutiniz- 
ing it  closely  with  the  candle.  "  '  Give  me  but 
the  superfluities  of  life,'  says  Gavanii,  'and  I'll 
not  trouble  you  for  its  necessaries. '  What  would 
he  say,  however,  to  a  fellow  famishing  with  hun- 
ger in  presence  of  nothing  but  pickled  mushrooms 


and  Worcester  sauce?  Oh,  here  is  a  crust! 
'  Bread  is  the  start'  of  life. '  On  my  oath,  I  believe 
so  ;  for  this  eats  devilish  like  a  walking-stick." 

"Halloo !  back  already  ?"  cried  he,  as  Kearney 
flung  wide  the  door  and  entered.  "I  suppose 
you  hurried  away  back  to  join  me  at  supper. " 

"  Thanks ;  but  I  have  supped  already,  and  at  a 
more  tempting  banquet  than  this  I  see  before  you." 

"  Was  it  pleasant  ?  Was  it  jolly  ?  Were  the 
girls  looking  lovely  ?  Was  the  Champagne-cup 
well  iced?  Was  every  body  charming  ?  Tell  me 
all  about  it.  Let  me  have  second-hand  pleasure, 
since  I  can't  afford  the  new  article." 

"It  was  pretty  much  like  every  other  small  ball 
here,  where  the  garrison  get  all  the  prettiest  girls 
for  partners,  and  take  the  mammas  down  to  sup- 
per after." 

"Cunning  dogs,  who  secure  flirtation  above 
stairs  and  food  belpw !  And  what  is  stirring  in 
the  world  ?  What  are  the  gayeties  in  prospect  ? 
Are  any  of  my  old  flames  about  to  get  married  ?" 

"I  didn't  know  you  had  any." 

"Have  I  not!  I  believe  half  the  parish  of 
St.  Peter's  might  proceed  against  me  for  breach 
of  promise ;  and  if  the  law  allowed  me  as  many 
wives  as  Brigham  Young,  I'd  be  still  disappoint- 
ing a  large  and  interesting  section  of  society  in 
the  suburbs." 

"They  have  made  a  seizure  on  the  office  of  the 
Pike,  and  carried  offthe  press  and  the  whole  issue, 
and  are  in  eager  pursuit  after  Madden,  the  editor. " 

' '  What  for  ?     What  is  it  all  about  ?" 

"  A  new  ballad  he  has  published ;  but  which, 
for  the  matter  of  that,  they  were  singing  at  every 
corner  as  I  came  along." 

"  Was  it  good  ?     Did  you  buy  a  copy  ?" 

"Buy  a  copy?     I  should  think  not." 

"Couldn't  your  patriotism  stand  the  test  of  a 
penny  ?" 

"It  might,  if  I  wanted  the  production,  which 
I  certainly  did  not ;  besides,  there  is  a  run  upon 
this,  and  they  are  selling  it  at  sixpence." 

' '  Hurrah !  There's  hope  for  Ireland,  after  all ! 
Shall  I  sing  it  for  you,  old  fellow  ?  Not  that  you 
deserve  it.  English  corruption  has  damped  the 
little  Irish  ardor  that  old  rebellion  once  kindled 
in  your  heart ;  and  if  you  could  get  rid  of  your 
brogue,  you're  ready  to  be  loyal.  You  shall  hear 
it,  however,  all  the  same.-'  And  taking  up  a  very 
damaged-looking  guitar,  he  struck  a  few  bold 
chords,  and  begun : 

Is  there  any  thing:  more  we  can  fight  or  can  hate  for  f 
The  "drop"  and  the  famine  have  made  our  ranks 
thin. 
In  the  name  of  endurance,  then,  what  do  we  wait 
for? 
Will  nobody  give  us  the  word  to  begin  ? 

Some  brothers  have  left  us  in  sadness  and  sorrow, 
In  despair  of  the  cause  they  had  sworn  to  win  ; 

They  owned  they  were  sick  of  that  cry  of  "  to-mor- 
row ;" 
Not  a  man  would  believe  that  we  meaut  to  begin. 

We've  been  ready  for  months— is  there  oue  can  deny 
it? 

Is  there  auy  oue  here  thinks  rebellion  a  sin? 
We  counted  the  cost— and  we  did  not  decry  it, 

And  we  asked  for  no  more  than  the  word  to  begin. 
At  Vinegar  Hill,  when  our  fathers  were  fighters, 

With  numbers  against  them,  they  cared  not  a  pin, 
They  needed  no  orders  from  newspaper  writers 

To  tell  them  the  day  it  was  time  to  begin. 
To  sit  down  here  in  sadness  and  silence  to  bear  it, 

Is  harder  to  face-  than  the  battle's  loud  din, 
'Tis  the  shame  that  will  kill  me— I  vow  it,  I  swear  it ! 
i     Now  or  never's  the  time,  if  we  mean  to  begin. 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


There  was  a  wild  rapture  in  the  way  he  struck 
the  last  chorda,  that,  if  it  did  oot  evince  ecstasy, 
seemed  to  counterfeit  enthusiasm. 

"  Very  poor  doggerel,  with  all  your  bravura," 
saiil  Kearney,  sneeringly. 

'•What  would  you  have?  I  only  got  three- 
and-six  for  it." 

"  Sou!      Is  that  thing  yours?" 

"  Yes.  Sir ;  that  thing  is  mine.  And  the  Cas- 
tle people  think  somewhat  more  gravely  about  it 
than  you  do." 

"  At  which  you  are  pleased,  doubtless?" 
"Not  pleased,  but  proud,  Master  Dick,  let  me 

tell  you.  It's  a  very  stimulating  reflection  to  the 
man  who  dines  on  an  onion,  that  he  can  spoil  the 
digestion  of  another  fellow  who  has  been  eating 
turtle." 

"But  you  may  have  to  go  to  prison  for  this." 
"Not  if  you  don't  peach  mi  me.  tor  you  are  the 
only  one  knows  the  authorship.  You  see,  Dick, 
these  things  are  done  cautiously.  They  are 
dropped  into  a  letter-box  with  an  initial  letter, 
and  a  clerk  hands  the  payment  to  some  of  those 
itinerant  hags  that  sing  the  melody,  and  who 
can  be  trusted  with  the  secret  as  implicitly  as  the 
briber  at  a  borough  election." 

"I  wish  you  had  a  better  livelihood,  Joe." 
"So  do  I,  or  that  my  present  one  paid  better. 
The  fact  is,  Dick,  patriotism  never  was  worth 
much  as  a  career  till  one  got  to  the  top  of  the 
profession.  But  if  you  mean  to  sleep  at  all,  old 
fellow,  'it's  time  to  begin,"'  and  he  chanted  out 
the  last  words  in  a  clear  and  ringing  tone  as  he 
banged  the  door  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AT     "TRINITY." 

It  was  while  the  two  young  men  were  seated 
at  breakfast  that  the  post  arrived,  bringing  a 
number  of  country  newspapers,  for  which,  in  one 
shape  or  other,  Joe  Atlee  wrote  something.  In- 
deed, he  was  an  "own  correspondent,"  dating 
from  London,  or  Paris,  or  occasionally  from 
Rome,  witli  an  easy  freshness  and  a  local  color 
that  vouched  for  authenticity.  These  journals 
were  of  every  political  tint,  from  emerald-green 
to  the  deepest  orange  ;  and,  indeed,  between  two 
of  them  —  the  Ti/>/>erary  Pike,  and  the  Boyne 
Water,  hailing  from  Carrickfergus — there  was  a 
controversy  of  such  violence  and  intemperance  of 
language  that  it  was  a  curiosity  to  see  the  two 
papers  on  the  same  table  :  the  fact  being  capable 
of  explanation,  that  they  were  both  written  by 
Joe  Atlee  —  a  secret,  however,  that  he  had  not 
confided  even  to  his  friend  Kearney. 

"  Will  that  fellow  that  signs  'himself  Terry 
OToole  in  the  Pike  Stand  this  ?"  cried  Kearney, 
reading  aloud  from  the  Boyne  Water: 

"'We  know  the  man  who  corresponds  with 
you  under  the  signature  of  Terry  ( (Toole,  and  it 
is  but  one  of  the  aliases  under  which  he  has  lived 
since  he  came  out  of  the  Richmond  Bridewell, 
fileher,  forger,  and  false  witness.  There  is  vet 
one  thing  he  has  never  tried,  which  is  to  behave 
with  a  little  courage.  If  he  should,  however,  be 
able  to  persuade  himself,  by  the  aid  of  his  accus- 
tomed stimulants,  to  accept  the  responsibility  of 
what  he  has  written,  we  bind  ourselves  to  pay  his 


expenses  to  any  part  of  France  or  Belgium,  where 
he  will  meet  us,  and  we  shall  also  bind  ourselves 
to  give  him  what  his  life  little  entitles  him  to,  a 
Christian  burial  afterward. 

"'No  Surrender.'" 

"  lam  just  reading  the  answer,"  said  Joe.  "  It 
is  very  brief :  here  it  is  : 

"  'If  "No  Surrender" — who  has  been  a  news- 
vendor  in  your  establishment  since  you  yourself 
rose  from  that  employ  to  the  editor's  chair — will 
call  at  this  office  any  morning  after  distributing 
his  eight  copies  of  your  daily  issue,  we  promise  to 
give  him  such  a  kicking  as  he  has  never  experi- 
enced during  his  literary  career. 

'"Terry  OToole.'" 

"And  these  are  the  amenities  of  journalism!" 
cried  Kearney. 

"  For  the  matter  of  that,  you  might  exclaim  at 
the  quack  doctor  of  a  fair,  and  ask,  I>  this  the 
dignity  of  medicine  ?"  said  Joe.  "  There's  a  head 
and  a  tail  to  every  walk  in  life  :  even  the  law  has 
a  chief-justice  at  one  end  and  Jack  Ketch  at  the 
other." 

"  Well,  I  sincerely  wish  that  those  blackguards 
would  first  kick  and  then  shoot  each  other." 

"They'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind  !  It's  just  as 
likely  that  they  wrote  the  whole  correspondence 
at  the  same  table,  and  with  the  same  jug  of  punch 
between  them." 

"  If  so,  I  don't  envy  you  your  career  or  your 
comrades." 

"  It's  a  lottery  with  big  prizes  in  the  wheel  all 
the  same!  I  could  tell  you  the  names  of  great 
swells,  Master  Dick,  who  have  made  very  proud 
places  lor  themselves  in  England  by  whai  you  cull 
'journalism.'  In  France  it  is  the  one  road  toem- 
inence.  Can  not  you  imagine,  besides,  what  cap- 
ital fun  it  is  to  be  able  to  talk  to  scores  of  people 
you  were  never  introduced  to — to  tell  them  an  in- 
finity of  things  on  public  matters,  or  now  and  then 
about  themselves  ;   anil  in  so  many  mood-  as  you 


16 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


have  tempers,  to  warn  them,  scold,  compassion- 
ate, correct,  console,  or  abuse  them — to  tell  them 
not  to  be  overconfident,  or  bumptious,  or  purse- 
proud — " 

"And  who  are  you,  mav  I  ask,  who  presume  to 
do  all  this  ?" 

"That's  as  it  may  be.  We  are  occasionally 
Guizot,  Thiers,  Pie'vot-Paradol,  Lytton,  Disraeli, 
or  Joe  Atlee." 

' '  Modest,  at  all  events. " 

"And  why  not  say  what  I  feel — not  what  I 
have  done,  but  what  is  in  me  to  do?  Can't  you 
understand  this :  it  would  never  occur  to  me  that 
I  could  vault  over  a  five-bar  gate  if  I  had  been 
born  a  cripple  ;  but  the  conscious  possession  of  a 
little  pliant  muscularity  might  well  tempt  me  to 
try  it. " 

"And  get  a  cropper  for  your  pains." 

"  Be  it  so.  Better  the  cropper  than  pass  one's 
life  looking  over  the  top  rail  and  envying  the  fel- 
low that  had  cleared  it.  But  what's  this  ?  Here's 
a  letter  here  :  it  got  in  among  the  newspapers.  I 
.say,  Dick,  do  you  stand  this  sort  of  thing  ?"  said 
he,  as  he  read'  the  address. 

"Stand  what  sort  of  thing?"  asked  the  other, 
half  angrily. 

"  Why,  to  be  addressed  in  this  fashion  ?  The 
Honorable  Richard  Kearney,  Trinity  College, 
Dublin." 

"It  is  from  my  sister,"  said  Kearney,  as  he 
took  the  letter  impatiently  from  his  hand  ;  "  and 
I  can  only  tell  you,  if  she  had  addressed  me  oth- 
erwise, I'd  not  have  opened  her  letter." 

"But  come  now,  old  fellow,  don't  lose  tem- 
per about  it.  You  have  a  right  to  this  designa- 
tion, or  you  have  not — " 

"I'll  spare  all  your  eloquence  by  simply  say- 
ing that  I  do  not  look  on  you  as  a  Committee 
of  Privilege,  and  I'm  not  going  to  plead  before 
you.  Besides,"  added  he,  "it's  only  a  few  min- 
utes ago  you  asked  me  to  credit  you  for  something 
you  had  not  yet  shown  yourself  to  be,  but  that 
you  intended  and  felt  that  the  world  should  see 
you  were  one  of  these  days." 

"So  then  you  really  mean  to  bring  your  claim 
before  the  Lords  ?" 

Kearney,  if  he  heard,  did  not  heed  this  ques- 
tion, but  went  on  to  read  his  letter.  "  Here's  a 
surprise  !"  cried  he.  "  I  was  telling  you  the  oth- 
er day  about  a  certain  cousin  of  mine  we  were 
expecting  from  Italy." 

"The  daughter  of  that  swindler,  the  mock 
prince  ?" 

"The  man's  character  I'll  not  stand  up  for, 
but  his  rank  and  title  are  alike  indisputable," 
said  Kearney,  haughtily. 

"  With  all  my  heart.  We  have  soared  into  a 
high  atmosphere  all  this  day,  and  I  hope  my  res- 
piration will  get  used  to  it  in  time.     Bead  away." 

It  was  not  till  after  a  considerable  interval  that 
Kearney  had  recovered  composure  enough  to 
read,  and,  when  he  did  so,  it  was  with  a  brow 
furrowed  with  irritation  : 

"Kilgobbin. 

"  My  dear  Dick, — We  had  just  sat  down  to 
tea  last  night,  and  papa  was  fidgeting  about  the 
length  of  time  his  letter  to  Italy  had  remained 
unacknowledged,  when  a  sharp  ring  at  the  house- 
door  startled  us.  We  had  been  hearing  a  good 
deal  of  searches  for  arms  lately  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  we  looked  very  blankly  at  each  other  for 
a  moment.     We  neither  of  us  said  so,  but  I  feel 


sure  our  thoughts  were  on  the  same  track,  and 
that  we  believed  Captain  Bock,  or  the  head  centre, 
or  whatever  be  his  latest  title,  had  honored  us 
with  a  call.  Old  Matthew  seemed  of  the  same 
mind  too,  for  he  appeared  at  the  door  with  that 
venerable  blunderbuss  we  have  so  often  played 
with,  and  which,  if  it  had  any  evil  thoughts"  in 
its  head,  I  must  have  been  tried  for  a  murder 
years  ago,  for  I  know  it  was  loaded  since  I  was  a 
child,  but  that  the  lock  has  for  the  same  space 
of  time  not  been  on  speaking  terms  with  the  bar- 
rel. While,  then,  thus  confirmed  in  our  sus- 
picions of  mischief  by  Mat's  warlike  aspect,  we 
both  rose  from  the  table,  the  door  opened,  and 
a  young  girl  rushed  in,  and  fell— actually  threw 
herself— into  papa's  amis.  It  was  Nina  "herself, 
who  had  come  all  the  way  from  Borne  alone,  that 
is,  without  any  one  she  knew,  and  made  her  way 
to  us  here,  without  any  other  guidance  than  her 
own  good  wits. 

"I  can  not  tell  you  how  delighted  we  are  with 
her.  She  is  the  loveliest  girl  I  ever  saw,  so  gen- 
tle, so  nicely  mannered,  so  soft-voiced,  and  so 
winning — I  feel  myself  like  a  peasant  beside  her. 
The  least  thing  she  says — her  laugh,  her  slightest 
gesture,  the  way  she  moves  about  the  room,  with 
a  sort  of  swinging  grace,  which  I  thought  affect- 
ed at  first,  but  now  I  see  is  quite  natural — is  only 
another  of  her  many  fascinations. 

' '  I  fancied  for  a  while  that  her  features  were 
almost  too  beautifully  regular  for  expression,  and 
that  even  when  she  smiled  and  showed  her  lovely 
teeth,  her  eyesgot  no  increase  of  brightness;  hut", 
as  I  talked  more  with  her,  and  learned  to  know 
her  better,  I  saw  that  those  eyes  have  meanings 
of  softness  and  depth  in  them  of  wonderful  power, 
and,  stranger  than  all,  au  archness  that  shows  she 
has  plenty  of  humor. 

"  Her  English  is  charming,  but  slightly  foreign ; 
and  when  she  is  at  a  loss  for  a  word",  there  is 
just  that  much  of  difficulty  in  finding  it  which 
gives  a  heightened  expression  to  her  beautifully 
calm  face,  and  makes  it  lovely.  You  may  see 
how  she  has  fascinated  me,  for  I  could  go  on 
raving  about  her  for  hours. 

"  She  is  very  anxious  to  see  you,  and  asks  me 
over  and  over  again,  Shall  you  like  her?  I 
was  almost  candid  enough  to  say  '  too  well. '  I 
mean  that  you  could  not  help  falling  in  love  with 
her,  my  dear  Dick  ;  and  she  is  so  much  above  us 
in  style,  in  habit,  and  doubtless  in  ambition,  that 
such  would  be  only  madness.  When  she  saw  your 
photo  she  smiled,  and  said,  '  Is  he  not  superb  ? 
— I  mean  proud  ?'  I  owned  you  were,  and  then 
she  added,  '  I  hope  he  will  like  me.'  I  am  not, 
perhaps,  discreet  if  I  tell  you  she  does  not  like  the 
portrait  of  your  chum,  Atlee.  She  says  '  he  is 
very  good-looking,  very  clever,  very  witty,  but 
isn't  he  false?'  and  this  she  says  over  and  over 
again.  I  told  her  I  believed  not  ;  that  I  had 
never  seen  him  myself,  but  that  I  knew  you 
liked  him  greatly,  and  felt  to  him  as  a  brother. 
She  only  shook  her  head,  and  said,  'Badate  bene  a 
quel  che  dico.  I  mean,'  said  she,  '  I'm  right,  but 
he's  very  nice,  for  all  that!'  If  I  tell  you  this, 
Dick,  it  is  just  because  I  can  not  get  it  out  of  my 
head,  and  I  will  keep  saying  over  and  over  to  my- 
self, '  If  Joe  Atlee  be  what  she  suspect,  why  does 
she  call  him  very  nice,  for  all  that  ?'  I  said  you 
intended  to  ask  him  down  here  next  vacation, 
and  she  gave  the  drollest  little  laugh  in  the  world, 
and   does  she  not  look  lovely  when  she  shows 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


17 


those  small  pearly  teeth?  Heaven  help  you,  poor  | 
J >itk,  when  you  Bee  herl  but  if  1  were  you,  I 
should  leave  Master  Joe  behind  me. for  Bhe  smiles, 
as  Bhe  looks  at  his  likeness,  in  a  way  that  would 
certainly  make  me  jealous,  it'  1  were  only  Joe's 
friend,  and  not  himself. 

■•  We  sat  up  in  Nina's  room  till  nigh  morning, 

and  tO-day  1  have  scarcely  seen  her,  tor  she  wants 

to  he  let  Bleep,  at'ter  that  long  and  tiresome  jour- 
ney, and  I  take  the  opportunity  to  write  you  this 
very  rambling  epistle;  for  you  may  feci  sure  I 
shall  he  less  of  a  correspondent  now  than  when 
I  was  without  companionship,  and  I  counsel  you 
to  he  very  grateful  if  you  hear  from  me  soon 
again. 

"Papa  wants  to  take  Duggan'8  farm  from  him, 
and  Lanty  Moore's  meadows,  and  throw  them  into 
the  law  n  :  hut  I  hope  he  won't  persist  in  the  plan  ; 
not  alone  because  it  is  a  mere  extravagance,  hut 
that  the  county  is  very  unsettled  just  now  about 
land-tenure,  and  the  people  are  hoping  all  sorts 
of  things  from  Parliament,  and  any  interference 
with  them  at  this  time  would  be  ill  taken.  Fa- 
ther Cody  was  here  yesterday,  and  told  me,  con- 
fidentially, to  prevent  papa — not  so  easy  a  thing 
as  he  thinks,  particularly  if  he  should  come  to 
suspect  that  any  intimidation  was  intended — 
and  Miss  O'Shea  unfortunately  said  something 
the  other  day  that  papa  can  not  get  out  of  his 
bead,  and  keeps  on  repeating,  '  So  then  it's  our 
turn  now,'  the  fellows  say;  'the  landlords  have 
had  five  hundred  years  of  it ;  it's  time  we  should 
come  in.'  And  this  he  says  over  and  over  with 
a  little  laugh,  and  I  wish  to  my  heart  Miss  Betty 
had  kept  it  to  herself.  By-the-way,  her  nephew 
is  to  come  on  leave,  and  pass  two  months  with 
her;  and  she  says  she  hopes  you  will  be  here  at 
the  same  time,  to  keep  him  company  ;  but  I  have 
a  notion  that  another  playfellow  may  prove  a 
dangerous  rival  to  the  Hungarian  hussar;  per- 
haps, however,  you  would  hand  over  Joe  Atlee 
to  him. 

"Be  sure  you  bring  us  some  new  books,  and 
some  music,  when  you  come,  or  send  them,  if  you 
don't  come  soon.  I  am  terrified  lest  Nina  should 
think  the  place  dreary,  and  I  don't  know  how  Bhe 
is  to  live  here  if  she  does  not  take  to  the  vul- 
gar drudgeries  that  fill  my  own  life.  When  she 
abruptly  asked  me.  'What  do  you  do  here?'  I 
was  sorely  puzzled  to  know  what  to  answer;  and 
then  she  added  quickly,  '  For  my  own  part,  it's  no 
great  matter,  for  I  can  always  dream.  I'm  a 
great  dreamer!'  Is  it  not  lucky  for  her,  Dick? 
She'll  have  ample  time  for  it  here. 

"I  suppose  I  never  wrote  so  long  a  letter  as 
this  in  my  life  j  indeed,  I  never  had  a  subject  that 
had  Mich  a  fa-iination  for  myself.  Do  you  know, 
Dick,  that  though  I  promised  to  let  her  sleep  on 

till  nigh  dinner-time,  I  find  myself  every  now  and 
then  creeping  up  gently  to  her  door,  and  only  be- 
think me  of  my  pledge  when  my  hand  is  on  the 
lock;  and  sometimes  I  even  doubt  if  she  is  here 

at  all,  and  I  am  half  crazy  at  fearing  it  may  be 
all  a  dream. 

••One  word  for  yourself,  and  I  have  done. 
Why  have  yon  not  told  as  of  the  examination? 
It  was  to  have  been  on  the  tenth,  and  we  are  now 
at  the  eighteenth.  Have  you  got— whatever  it 
was — the  prize,  or  tie-  medal,  or — tin-  reward,  in 
short,  we  were  so  anxiously  hoping  for?  It 
would  lie  such  cheery  tidings  for  poor  papa,  who 
is  very  low  and  depressed  of  late,  and  I  see  him 
B 


always  reading  with  such  attention  any  notice  of 
the  college  he  can  find  in  the  new-paper.  My 
dear,  dear  brother,  how  you  would  work  hard  if 
you  only  knew  what  a  prize  BUCCeBS  in  lite  mighl 
give  you.  Little  as  I  have  seen  of  her.  I  could 
guess  that  she  will  never  bestow  a  thought  on  an 
Undistinguished  man.      Come  down  for  one  day, 

ami  tell  me  if  ever,  in  all  your  ambition,  you  had 

such  a  goal  before  you  as  this. 

"The  hoggets  I  scut  in  to  Tullamore  fair  were 

not  sold;  but  I  believe  Miss  Betty's  Bteward  will 
take  them  ;  and,  if  so,  I  will  Bend  you  ten  pounds 
next  week.  I  never  knew  the  market  so  dull. 
and  the  English  dealers  now  are  only  eager  about 
horses,  ami  I'm  sure  I  couldn't  part  with  any  if 
I  had  them.  With  all  my  love,  1  am  your  ever 
affectionate  sister,  Kate  Kearney. 

"I  have  just  Stepped  into  Nina's  room  and 
stolen  the  photo  I  send  you.  I  suppose  the  dress 
must  have  been  for  some  fancy  ball  ;  hut  she  is 
a  hundred  million  times  more  beautiful.  I  don't 
know  if  I  shall  have  courage  to  confess  my  theft 
to  her." 

"Is  that  your  sister,  Dick?''  said  Joe  Atlee. 
as  young  Kearney  withdrew  the  carte  from  the 
letter  and  placed  it  face  downward  on  the  break- 
fast-table. 

"No,"  replied  he,  bluntly,  and  continued  to 
read  on  ;  while  the  other,  in  the  spirit  of  that  free- 
dom that  prevailed  between  them,  stretched  out 
his  hand  and  took  up  the  portrait. 

"Who  is  this?"  cried  he,  after  some  seconds. 
"She's  an  actress.  That's  something  like  what 
the  girl  wears  in  'Don  Csesar  de  Bazan.'  To 
be  sure,  she  is  Maritana.  She's  stunningly  beau- 
tiful. Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  Dick,  that  there's 
a  girl  like  that  on  your  provincial  boards  ?" 

"  I  never  said  so,  any  more  than  I  gave  you 
leave  to  examine  the  contents  of  my  letters,"  said 
the  other,  haughtily. 

"Egad!  I'd  have  smashed  the  seal  any  day 
to  have  caught  a  glimpse  of  such  a  face  as  that. 
I'll  wager  her  eyes  are  blue-gray.  Will  you  have 
a  bet  on  it  ?" 

"  When  you  have  done  with  your  raptures,  I'll 
thank  you  to  hand  the  likeness  to  me." 

"  But  who  isshe?  what  is  she?  where  is  she? 
Is  she  the  Greek  ?" 

"When  a  fellow  can  help  himself  BO  coolly  to 
his  information  as  you  do,  I  scarcely  think  he  de- 
serves much  aid  from  others  ;  but,  I  may  tell  you, 
she  is  not  Maritana,  nor  a  provincial  actress  nor 
any  actress  at  all,  but  a  young  lady  of  good  blood 
and  birth,  and  my  own  first-cousin." 

"On  my  oath,  it's  the  best  thing  I  ever  knew 
of  you." 

Kearney  laughed  out  at  this  moment  at  some- 
thing in  the  letter,  and  did  no)  hear  the  other's 

remark. 

"It  seems,  Master  Joe,  that  the  young  lady 
did  not  reciprocate  the  rapturous  delight  you  feel, 
at  sight  of  your  picture.  My  sister  say-  I'll 
read  you  her  very  words — 'she  does  not  like  the 
portrait  of  your  friend  Atlee;  he  may  be  clev- 
er and  amusing,  she  says,  but  he  is  undeniably 

false.'     Mind  that— undeniably  false." 

"That's  all  the  fault  of  the  artist.    The  stupid 

dog  would  place  me  iii  >o  strong  a  light  that  I 

kept  blinking." 

"No,  no.     She  reads  you  like  a   book,"  said 

the  other. 


18 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"I  wish  to  Heaven  she  would,  if  she  would 
hold  me  like  one." 

"And  the  nice  way  she  qualifies  your  clever- 
ness, by  calling  you  amusing." 

"  She  could  certainly  spare  that  reproach  to  her 
cousin  Dick,"  said  he.  laughing  ;  "  but  no  more 
of  this  sparring.  When  do  you  mean  to  take  me 
down  to  the  country  with  you  ?  The  term  will 
be  up  on  Tuesday." 

"  That  will  demand  a  little  consideration  now. 
In  the  fall  of  the  year,  perhaps.  When  the  sun 
is  less  powerful  the  light  will  be  more  favorable 
to  your  features." 

"My  poor  Dick,  I  cram  you  with  good  advice 
every  day  ;  but  one  counsel  I  never  cease  repeat- 
ing, '  Never  try  to  be  witty.'  A  dull  fellow  only 
cuts  his  finger  with  a  joke,  he  never  catches  it 
by  the  handle.  Hand  me  over  that  letter  of  your 
sister's  :  I  like  the  way  she  writes.  All  that 
about  the  pigs  and  the  poultry  is  as  good  as  the 
Farmers'  Chronicle." 

The  other  made  no  other  reply  than  by  coolly 
folding  up  the  letter  and  placing  it  in  his  pocket ; 
and  then,  after  a  pause,  he  said : 

"I  shall  tell  Miss  Kearney  the  favorable  im- 
pression her  epistolary  powers  have  produced  on 
my  very  clever  and  accomplished  chum,  Mr.  At- 
lee." 

"  Do  so ;  and  say,  if  she'd  take  me  for  a  cor- 
respondent instead  of  you,  she"d  be  '  exchanging 
with  a  difference.'  On  my  oath,"  said  he,  seri- 
ously, "  I  believe  a  most  finished  education  might 
be  effected  in  letter-writing.  I'd  engage  to  take 
a  clever  girl  through  a  whole  course  of  Latin  and 
Greek,  and  a  fair  share  of  mathematics  and  log- 
ic, in  a  series  of  letters,  and  her  replies  would  be 
the  fairest  test  of  her  acquirement." 

"Shall  I  propose  this  to  my  sister  ?" 

' '  Do  so,  or  to  your  cousin.  I  suspect  Mari- 
tana  would  be  an  apter  pupil. " 

"  The  bell  has  stopped.  We  shall  be  late  in 
the  hall,"  said  Kearney,  throwing  on  his  gown 
hurriedly  and  hastening  away  ;  while  Atlee,  tak- 
ing some  proof-sheets  from  the  chimney-piece, 
proceeded  to  correct  them,  a  slight  flicker  of  a 
smile  still  lingering  over  his  dark  but  handsome 
face. 

Though  such  little  jarring  passages  as  that  we 
have  recorded  were  nothing  uncommon  between 
these  two  young  men,  they  were  very  good  friends 
on  the  whole,  the  very  dissimilarity  that  pro- 
voked their  squabbles  saving  them  from  any  more 
serious  rivalry.  In  reality,  no  two  people  could 
be  less  alike :  Kearney  being  a  slow,  plodding, 
self-satisfied,  dull  man,  of  very  ordinary  facul- 
ties; while  the  other  was  an  indolent,  discur- 
sive, sharp-witted  fellow,  mastering  whatever  he 
addressed  himself  to  with  ease,  but  so  enamored 
of  novelty  that  he  rarely  went  beyond  a  smatter- 
ing of  any  thing.  He  carried  away  college  hon- 
ors apparently  at  will,  and  might,  many  thought, 
have  won  a  fellowship  with  little  effort ;  but  his 
passion  was  for  change.  Whatever  bore  upon 
the  rogueries  of  letters,  the  frauds  of  literature, 
had  an  irresistible  charm  for  him  ;  and  he  once 
declared  that  he  would  almost  rather  have  been 
Ireland  than  Shakspeare;  and  then  it  was  his 
delight  to  write  Greek  versions  of  a  poem  that 
might  attach  the  mark  of  plagiarism  to  Tenny- 
son, or  show,  by  a  Scandinavian  lyric,  how  the 
laureate  had  been  poaching  from  the  Northmen. 
Now  it  was  a  mock  pastoral  in  most  ecclesias- 


tical Latin  that  set  the  whole  Church  in  arms ; 
now,  a  mock  dispatch  of  Baron  Beust's  that  actu- 
ally deceived  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  and 
caused  quite  a  panic  at  the  Tuileries.  He  had 
established  such  relations  with  foreign  journals 
that  he  could  at  any  moment  command  insertion 
for  a  paper,  now  in  the  Memorial  Diplomatique, 
now  in  the  Goloss  of  St.  Petersburg,  or  the  All- 
gemeine  Zeitung  ;  while  the  comment,  written 
also  by  himself,  would  appear  in  the  Kreutz 
Zeitung  or  The  Times ;  and  the  mystification 
became  such  that  the  shrewdest  and  keenest 
heads  were  constantly  misled,  to  which  side  to 
incline  in  a  controversy  where  all  the  wires  were 
pulled  by  one  hand.  Many  a  discussion  on  the 
authenticity  of  a  document,  or  the  veracity  of  a 
conversation,  would  take  place  between  the  two 
young  men  :  Kearney  not  having  the  vaguest 
suspicion  that  the  author  of  the  point  in  debate 
was  then  sitting  opposite  to  him,  sometimes  seem- 
ing to  share  the  very  doubts  and  difficulties  that 
were  then  puzzling  himself. 

While  Atlee  knew  Kearney  in  every  fold  and 
fibre  of  his  nature,  Kearney  had  not  the  very 
vaguest  conception  of  him  with  whom  he  sat  ev- 
ery day  at  meals,  and  communed  through  almost 
every  hour  of  life.  He  treated  Joe,  indeed,  with 
a  sort  of  proud  protection,  thinking  him  a  sharp, 
clever,  idle  fellow,  who  would  never  come  to  any 
thing  higher  than  a  bookseller's  hack  or  an  "  oc- 
casional correspondent."  He  liked  his  ready 
speech  and  his  fun,  but  he  would  not  consent  to 
see  in  either  evidences  of  any  thing  beyond  the 
amusing  qualities  of  a  very  light  intelligence. 
On  the  whole,  he  looked  down  upon  him,  as  very 
properly  the  slow  and  ponderous  people  in  life  do 
look  down  upon  their  more  volatile  brethren,  and 
vote  them  triflers.  Long  may  it  be  so !  There 
would  be  more  sun-strokes  in  the  world  if  it 
were  not  that  the  shadows  of  dull  men  made 
such  nice  cool  places  for  the  others  to  walk  in ! 


CHAPTER  V. 

nOME  LIFE  AT  THE  CASTLE. 

The  life  of  that  quaint  old  country-house  was 
something  very  strange  and  odd  to*  Nina  Kos- 
talergi.  It  was  not  merely  its  quiet  monotony, 
its  unbroken  sameness  of  topics  as  of  events,  and 
its  small  economies,  always  appearing  on  the  sur- 
face ;  but  that  a  young  girl  like  Kate,  full  of  life 
and  spirits,  gay,  haudsome,  and  high-hearted — 
that  she  should  go  her  mill-round  of  these  tire- 
some daily  cares,  listening  to  the  same  com- 
plaints, remedying  the  same  evils,  meeting  the 
same  difficulties,  and  yet  never  seem  to  resent  an 
existence  so  ignoble  and  unworthy !  This  was, 
indeed,  scarce  credible. 

As  for  Nina  herself — like  one  saved  from  ship- 
wreck— her  first  sense  of  security  was  full  of  grat- 
itude. It  was  only  as  this  wore  off  that  she  be- 
gan to  see  the  desolation  of  the  rock  on  which 
she  had  clambered.  Not  that  her  former  life  had 
been  rose-tinted.  It  had  been  of  all  things  the 
most  harassing  and  weaiying — a  life  of  dreary  ne- 
cessitude — a  perpetual  straggle  with  debt.  Ex- 
cept play,  her  father  had  scarcely  any  resource  for 
a  livelihood.  He  affected,  indeed,  to  give  lessons 
in  Italian  and  French  to  young  Englishmen  ;  but 
he  was  so  fastidious  as  to  the  rank  and  condition 


LOBD  KILGOBMX. 


19 


of  his  pupils,  and  so  unaccommodating  as  to  his  I 

hours,  and  BO  unpunctual,  that  it  was  cviilent  that 
the  whole  was  a  mere  pretense  of  industry,  to 

avoid  tin1  reproach  of  being  utterly  dependent  on 
the  play-table  :  besides  this,  in  his  capacity  as  a 
teacher,  lie  obtained  access  to  houses  and  accept- 
ance with  families  where  he  would  have  found 
entrance  impossible  under  other  circumstances. 

He  was  polished  and  good-looking.  All  his 
habits  bespoke  familiarity  with  society  ;  ami  he 
knew  to  the  nicest  fraction  the  amount  of  inti- 
macy he  might  venture  on  with  any  one.  Some 
did  not  like  him — the  man  of  a  questionable  po- 
sition, the  reduced  gentleman,  has  terrible  preju- 
dices to  combat.  He  must  always  he  suspected 
— Heaven  knows  of  what,  but  of  some  covert  de- 
sign against  the  religion,  or  the  pocket,  or  the  in- 
fluence of  those  who  admit  him.  Some  thought 
him  dangerous,  because  his  manners  were  insin- 
uating, and  his  address  studiously  directed  to 
captivate.  Others  did  not  fancy  his  passion  for 
mixing  in  the  world  and  frequenting  society,  to 
which  his  straitened  means  appeared  to  deny  him 
rightful  access ;  but  when  he  had  succeeded  in 
introducing  his  daughter  to  the  world,  and  people 
began  to  say,  "  See  how  admirably  M.  Kostalergi 
has  brought  up  that  girl !  how  nicely  mannered 
she  is,  how  lady-like,  how  well  bred,  what  a  lin- 
guist, what  a  musician!"  a  complete  revulsion 
took  place  in  public  opinion,  and  many  who  had 
but  half  trusted,  or  less  than  liked  him  before, 
became  now  his  stanchest  friends  and  adherents. 
Nina  had  been  a  great  success  in  society,  and  she 
reaped  the  full  benefit  of  it.  Sufficiently  well- 
born to  be  admitted,  without  any  special  conde- 
scension, into  good  houses,  she  was  in  manner 
and  style  the  equal  of  any  ;  and  though  her  dress 
was  ever  of  the  cheapest  and  plainest,  her  fresh 
toilet  was  often  commented  on  with  praise  by 
those  who  did  not  fully  remember  what  added 
grace  and  elegance  the  wearer  had  lent  it. 

From  the  wealthy  nobles  to  whom  her  musical 
genius  had  strongly  recommended  her,  numerous 
and  sometimes  costly  presents  were  sent  in  ac- 
knowledgment of  her  charming  gifts  ;  and  these, 
as  invariably,  were  converted  into  money  by  her 
father,  who  after  a  while  gave  it  to  he  understood 
that  the  recompense  would  be  always  more  wel- 
come in  that  form. 

Nina,  however,  for  a  long  time  knew  nothing 
of  this  ;  she  saw  herself  sought  after,  and  flat- 
tered in  society,  selected  for  peculiar  attention 
wherever  she  went,  complimented  on  her  acquire- 
ments, and  made  much  of  to  an  extent  that  not 
unfrequently  excited  the  envy  and  jealousy  of  girls 
much  more  favorably  placed  by  fortune  than  her- 
self. If  her  long  mornings  and  afternoons  were 
passed  amidst  solitude  and  poverty,  vulgar  cares, 
and  harassing  importunities,  when  night  came, 
she  emerged  into  the  blaze  of  lighted  lustres 
and  gilded  salons,  to  move  in  an  atmosphere  of 
splendor  and  sweet  sounds,  with  all  that  could 
captivate  the  senses  and  exalt  imagination.  This 
twofold  life  of  meanness  and  magni licence  so 
wrought  upon  her  nature  as  to  develop  almost 
two  individualities.  The  one  hard,  stern,  realis- 
tic, even  to  grndgingness ;  the  other  gay,  buoy- 
ant, enthusiastic,  and  ardent :  and  they  who  only 
saw  her  of  an  evening  in  all  the  exultation  of  her 
nattered  beauty, followed  about  by  a  train  of  ad- 
miring worshipers,  addressed  in  all  that  e 
arion  of  language  Italy  sanctions,  pampered  by  ca- 


resses, and  honored  by  homage  on  every  side,  lit- 
tle knew  by  what  dreary  torpor  of  heart  and  mind 

that  joyous  ecstasy  they  witnessed  had   been 

preceded,  nor  by  what  a  hound  her  emotions 
had  Bprnng  from  the  depths  of  brooding  melan- 
choly to  this  paroxysm  of  delight ;  nor  could  the 

worn-out  ami  wearied  followers  of  pleasure  com- 
prehend the  intense  enjoyment  produced  by  tights 

and  sounds  which  in  their  case  no  fancy  ideal 
ized,  no  soaring  imagination  had  lifted  to  the 
heaven  of  bliss. 

Kostalergi  seemed  for  a  while  to  content  him- 
self with  the  secret  resources  of  his  daughter's 
successes,  but  at  length  lie  launched  out  into 
heavy  play  once  more,  and  lost  largely.  It  was 
in  this  strait  that  he  bethought  him  of  negotiating 
with  a  theatrical  manager  for  Nina's  appearance 
on  the  stage.  These  contracts  take  the  precise 
form  of  a  sale,  where  the  victim,  in  consideration 
of  being  educated,  and  maintained,  and  paid  a 
certain  amount,  is  hound,  legally  bound,  to  devote 
her  services  to  a  master  for  a  "given  time.  The 
impresario  of  the  Fenice  had  often  heard  from 
travelers  of  that  wonderful  mezzo-soprano  voice 
which  was  captivating  all  Rome,  where  the  beau- 
ty and  grace  of  the  singer  were  extolled  not  less 
loudly.  The  great  skill  of  these  astute  providers 
for  the  world's  pleasure  is  evidenced  in  nothing 
more  remarkably  than  the  instinctive  quickness 
with  which  they  pounce  upon  the  indications  of 
dramatic  genius,  and  hasten  away — half  across 
the  globe  if  need  be — to  secure  it.  Signor  La- 
nari  was  not  slow  to  procure  a  letter  of  introduc- 
tion to  Kostalergi,  and  very  soon  acquainted  him 
with  his  object. 

Under  the  pretense  that  he  was  an  old  friend 
and  former  school-fellow,  Kostalergi  asked  him 
to  share  their  humble  dinner,  and  there,  in  that 
meanly  furnished  room,  and  with  the  accompa- 
niment of  a  wretched  and  jangling  instrument, 
Nina  so  astonished  and  charmed  him  by  her  per- 
formance, that  all  the  habitual  reserve  of  the 
cautious  bargainer  gave  way,  and  he  burst  out 
into  exclamations  of  enthusiastic  delight,  ending 
with,  "She  is  mine!  she  is  mine!  I  tell  you, 
since  Persiani,  there  has  been  nothing  like  her!'' 

Nothing  remained  now  but  to  reveal  the  plan 
to  herself;  and  though  certainly  neither  the 
Greek  nor  his  guest  was  deficient  in  descriptive 
power,  or  failed  to  paint  in  glowing  colors  the 
gorgeous  procession  of  triumphs  that  await  stage 
success,  she  listened  with  little  pleasure  to  it  all. 
She  had  already  walked  the  hoards  of  what  she 
thought  a  higher  arena.  She  had  tasted  flatter- 
ies unalloyed  with  any  sense  of  decided  inferiori- 
ty ;  she  had  moved  among  dukes  and  duchesses 
with  a  recognized  station,  and  received  their 
compliments  with  ease  and  dignity.  Was  all 
this  reality  of  condition  to  he  exchanged  for  a 
mock  splendor,  and  a  feigned  greatness?  was 
she  to  be  subjected  to  the  licensed  stare,  and  crit- 
icism, and  coarse  comment,  maybe,  of  hundreds 
-he  never  knew,  nor  would  stoop  to  know?  and 
was  the  adulation  she  now  lived  in  to  he  bartered 
for  the  vulgar  applause  of  those  who,  if  dis-atis- 
fied,  could  testify  the  feeling  as  openly  and  un- 
sparingly? She  said  very  little  of  what  she  felt 
in  her  heart,  but  was  no  sooner  alone  in  her  room 
at  night  than  she  wrote  that  letter  to  her  urn  le 
entreating  his  protection. 

It  had  been  arranged  with  Lanari  that  she 
diould  make  one  appearance  at  a  small  provincial 


20 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


theatre  as  soon  as  she  could  master  any  easy  part, 
and  Kostalergi,  having  some  acquaintance  with 
the  manager  at  Orvieto,  hastened  off  there  to  ob- 
tain his  permission  tor  her  appearance.  It  was 
of  this  brief  absence  she  profited  to  fly  from 
Rome,  the  banker  conveying  her  as  far  as  Civita 
Vecchia,  whence  she  sailed  direct  for  Marseilles. 
And  now  we  see  her,  as  she  found  herself  in  that 
dreary  old  mansion,  sad,  silent,  and  neglected, 
wondering  whether  the  past  was  all  a  dream,  or 
if  the  unbroken  calm  in  which  she  now  lived  was 
not  a  sleep. 

Conceding  her  perfect  liberty  to  pass  her  time 
how  she  liked,  they  exacted  from  her  no  appear- 
ance at  meals  nor  any  conformity  with  the  ways 
of  others,  and  she  never  came  to  breakfast,  and 
only  entered  the  drawing-room  a  short  time  be- 
fore dinner.  Kate,  who  had  counted  on  her 
companionship  and  society,  and  hoped  to  see  her 
sharing  with  her  the  little  cai-es  and  duties  of  her 
life  and  taking  interest  in  her  pursuits,  was  sore- 
ly grieved  at  her  estrangement,  but  continued  to 
believe  it  would  wear  off  with  time  and  familiar- 
ity with  the  place.  Kearney  himself,  in  secret, 
resented  the  freedom  with  which  she  disregarded 
the  discipline  of  his  house,  and  grumbled  at 
times  over  foreign  ways  and  habits  that  he  had 
no  fancy  to  see  under  his  roof.  When  she  did 
appear,  however,  her  winning  manners,  her  grace, 
and  a  certain  half-caressing  coquetry  she  could 
practice  to  perfection,  so  soothed  and  amused 
him  that  he  soon  forgot  any  momentary  displeas- 
ure, and  more  than  once  gave  up  his  evening 
visit  to  the  club  at  Moate  to  listen  to  her  as  she 
sang,  or  hear  her  sketch  off  some  trait  of  that 
Roman  society  in  which  British  pretension  and 
eccentricity  often  figured  so  amusingly. 

Like  a  faithful  son  of  the  Church,  too,  he  nev- 
er wearied  hearing  of  the  Pope  and  the  Cardi- 
nals, of  glorious  ceremonials  of  the  Church,  and 
festivals  observed  with  all  the  pomp  and  state 
that  pealing  organs,  and  incense,  and  gorgeous 
dress  could  confer.  The  contrast  between  the 
sufferance  under  which  his  Church  existed  at 
home  and  the  honors  and  homage  rendered  to  it 
abroad,  was  a  fruitful  stimulant  to  that  disaffec- 
tion he  felt  toward  England,  and  would  not  un- 
frequently  lead  him  away  to  long  diatribes  about 
penal  laws  and  the  many  disabilities  which  had 
enslaved  Ireland,  and  reduced  himself,  the  de- 
scendant of  a  princely  race,  to  the  condition  of  a 
ruined  gentleman. 

To  Kate  these  complainings  were  ever  distaste- 
ful; she  had  but  one  philosophy,  which  was  "to 
bear  up  well,"  and  when  not  that,  "as  well  as 
you  could."  She  saw  scores  of  things  around  her 
to  be  remedied,  or,  at  least,  bettered,  by  a  little 
exertion,  and  not  one  which  could  be  helped  by 
a  vain  regret.  For  the  loss  of  that  old  barbaric 
splendor  and  profuse  luxury  which  her  father 
mourned  over  she  had  no  regrets.  She  knew 
that  these  wasteful  and  profligate  livers  had  done 
nothing  for  the  people  either  in  act  or  in  exam- 
ple ;  that  they  were  a  selfish,  worthless,  self-in- 
dulgent race,  caring  for  nothing  but  their  pleas- 
ures, and  making  all  their  patriotism  consist  in  a 
hate  toward  England. 

These  were  not  Nina's  thoughts.  She  liked 
all  these  stories  of  a  time  of  power  and  might, 
when  the  Kearneys  were  great  chieftains,  and 
the  old  castle  the  scene  of  revelry  and  feasting. 

She  drew  prettily,  and  it  amused  her  to  illus- 


trate the  curious  tales  the  old  man  told  her  of 
frays  and  forays,  the  wild  old  life  of  savage  chief- 
tains and  the  scarce  less  savage  conquerors.  On 
one  of  these — she  called  it  "The  Return  of  O-'Ca- 
hamey  "  —  she  bestowed  such  labor  and  study, 
that  her  uncle  would  sit  for  hours  watching  the 
work,  not  knowing  if  his  heart  were  more  stirred 
by  the  claim  of  his  ancestor's  greatness,  or  by  the 
marvelous  skill  that  realized  the  whole  scene  be- 
fore him.  The  head  of  the  young  chieftain  was 
to  be  filled  in  when  Dick  came  home.  Mean- 
while, great  persuasions  were  being  used  to  in- 
duce Tom  Gill  to  sit  for  a  kern  who  had  shared 
the  exile  of  his  masters,  but  had  afterward  be- 
trayed them  to  the  English ;  and  whether  Gill 
had  heard  some  dropping  word  of  the  part  he 
was  meant  to  fill,  or  that  his  own  suspicion  had 
taken  alarm  from  certain  directions  the  j'oung 
lady  gave  as  to  the  expression  he  was  to  assume, 
certain  is  it  nothing  could  induce  him  to  comply, 
and  go  down  to  posterity  with  the  immortality 
of  crime. 

The  little  long-neglected  drawing-room  where 
Nina  had  set  up  her  easel  became  now  the  usual 
morning  lounge  of  the  old  man,  who  loved  to  sit 
and  watch  her  as  she  worked,  and,  what  amused 
him  even  more,  listen  while  she  talked.  It 
seemed  to  him  like  a  revival  of  the  past  to  hear 
of  the  world,  that  gay  world  of  feasting  and  en- 
joyment, of  which  for  so  many  years  he  had 
known  nothing ;  and  here  he  was  back  in  it 
|  again,  and  with  grander  company  and  higher 
names  than  he  ever  remembered.  "Why  was 
not  Kate  like  her  ?"  would  he  mutter  over  and 
over  to  himself.  Kate  was  a  good  girl,  fine-tem- 
pered and  happy-hearted,  but  she  had  no  accom- 
plishments, none  of  those  refinements  of  the  oth- 
er. If  he  wanted  to  present  her  at  "  the  Castle  " 
one  of  these  days,  he  did  not  know  if  she  would 
have  tact  enough  for  the  ordeal;  but  Nina!  — 
Nina  was  sure  to  make  an  actual  sensation,  as 
much  by  her  grace  and  her  style  as  by  her  beau- 
ty. Kearney  never  came  into  the  room  where 
she  was  without  being  struck  by  the  elegance  of 
her  demeanor,  the  way  she  would  rise  to  receive 
him,  her  step,  her  carriage,  the  very  disposal  of 
her  drapery  as  she  sat ;  the  modulated  tone  of 
her  voice,  and  a  sort  of  purring  satisfaction  as 
she  took  his  hand  and  heard  his  praises  of  her, 
spread  like  a  charm  over  him,  so  that  he  never 
knew  how  the  time  slipped  by  as  he  sat  beside  her. 

"Have  you  ever  written  to  your  father  since 
you  came  here  ?"  asked  he  one  day  as  they  talked 
together. 

"  Yes,  Sir  ;  and  yesterday  I  got  a  letter  from 
him.  Such  a  nice  letter,  Sir — no  complainings, 
no  reproaches  for  my  running  away  ;  but  all  sorts 
of  good  wishes  for  my  happiness.  He  owns  he 
was  sorry  to  have  ever  thought  of  the  stage  for 
me ;  but  he  says  this  lawsuit  he  is  engaged  in 
about  his  grandfather's  will  may  last  for  years, 
and  that  he  knew  I  was  so  certain  of  a  great  suc- 
cess, and  that  a  great  success  means  more  than 
mere  money,  he  fancied  that  in  my  triumph  he 
would  reap  the  recompense  for  his  own  disasters. 
He  is  now,  however,  far  happier  that  I  have  found 
a  home,  a  real  home,  and  says,  '  Tell  my  lord  1 
am  heartily  ashamed  of  all  my  rudeness  with  re- 
gard to  him,  and  would  willingly  make  a  pilgrim- 
age to  the  end  of  Europe  to  ask  his  pardon  ;'  and 
say  besides  that  '  when  I  shall  be  restored  to  the 
fortune  and  rank  of  my  ancestors,' — you  know," 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


2] 


added  she,  "  he  is  a  prince, — '  my  first  act  will  be 
to  throw  myself  at  hk  fiaet  and  beg  to  be  forgiven 
by  him.'" 

••  What  i>  the  property  i  is  it  land  ?"  asked  he, 
with  the  half-saspectrumesa  of  one  not  fully  as- 
sured of  «  hat  he  was  listening  to. 

"  Yes,  Sir:  the  estate  is  in  Delos.    I  have  seen 


••  And  w  hat  chance  has  he  of  getting  it  all  back 
again '-" 

"That  i-  more  that  1  can  tell  you  :  he  himself 
is  Bometimes  verj  confident,  and  talks  as  if  there 

eoidd  not  be  a  doubt  of  it." 

'•  Used  your  poor  mother  to  believe  it?'*  aske' 
he,  half-tremnlously. 


the  plan  of  the  grounds  and  gardens  of  the  palace, 
which  arc  princely.  Here,  on  this  seal,"  said  -he. 
showing  the  envelope  of  her  letter,  "you  can  sec 
the  arms  ;  papa  never  omit-  to  use  it,  though  on 
his  card  he  is  written  only  'of  the  princes'  —  a 
form  observed  with  us." 


"  I  can  scarcely  say.  Sir;  I  can  barely  remem- 
ber her ;  but  I  have  heard  papa  blame  her  for  not 
interesting  her  high  connections  in  England  in  his 
suit  ;  he  often  thought  that  a  word  to  the  embas- 
sador at  Athens  would  have  almost   decided  the 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"High  connections,  indeed ! "  burst  he  forth. 
"By  my  conscience  they're  pretty  much  out  at 
elbows,  like  himself;  and  if  we  were  trying  to  re- 
cover our  own  right  to-morrow,  the  look-out  would 
be  bleak  enough!" 

"Papa  is  not  easily  cast  down,  Sir;  he  has  a 
very  sanguine  spirit." 

"  Maybe  you  think  it's  what  is  wanting  in  my 
case,  eh,  Nina  ?  Say  it  out,  girl ;  tell  me,  I'd  be 
the  better  for  a  little  of  your  father's  hopefulness, 
eh?" 

"  You  could  not  change  to  any  thing  I  could 
like  better  than  what  you  are,"  said  she,  taking 
his  hand  and  kissing  it. 

"Ah,  you're  a  rare  one  to  say  coaxing  things," 
said  he,  looking  fondly  on  her.  "  I  believe  you'd 
be  the  best  advocate  for  either  of  us,  if  the  courts 
would  let  you  plead  for  us." 

"  I  wish  they  would,  Sir,"  said  she,  proudly. 

"What  is  that?"  cried  he,  suddenly;  "sure 
it's  not  putting  myself  you  are  in  the  picture!" 

"  Of  course  I  am,  Sir.  Was  not  the  O'Cahar- 
ney  your  ancestor  ?  Is  it  likely  that  an  old  race 
had  not  traits  of  feature  and  lineament  that  ages 
of  descent  could  not  efface?  I'd  swear  that 
strong  brow  and  frank  look  must  be  an  heir- 
loom." 

"Faith,  then,  almost  the  only  one!"  said  he, 
sighing.  "  Who's  making  that  noise  out  there  ?" 
said  he,  rising  and  going  to  the  window.  "Oh, 
it's  Kate  with  her  dogs.  I  often  tell  her  she'd 
keep  a  pair  of  ponies  for  less  than  those  trouble- 
some brutes  cost  her." 

"  They  are  great  company  to  her,  she  says,  and 
she  lives  so  much  in  the  open  air." 

"  I  know  she  does,"  said  he,  dropping  his  head, 
and  sitting  like  one  whose  thoughts  had  taken  a 
brooding,  despondent  turn. 

"One  more  sitting  I  must  have,  Sir,  for  the 
hair.  You  had  it  beautifully  yesterday ;  it  fell 
over  on  one  side  with  a  most  perfect  light  on  a 
large  lock  here.  Will  you  give  me  half  an  hour 
to-morrow,  say  ?" 

"  I  can't  promise  you,  my  dear.  Tom  Gill  has 
been  urging  me  to  go  over  to  Loughrea  for  the 
fair ;  and  if  we  go,  we  ought  to  be  there  by  Satur- 
day, and  have  a  quiet  look  at  the  stock  before  the 
sales  begin." 

"And  are  you  going  to  be  long  away?"  said 
she,  poutingly,  as  she  leaned  over  the  back  of  his 
chair,  and  suffered  her  curls  to  fall  half  across  his 
face. 

"  I'll  be  right  glad  to  be  back  again, "said  he, 
pressing  her  head  down  till  he  could  kiss  her 
cheek,  "  right  glad !" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  "BLUE    GOAT." 

The  "  Blue  Goat"  in  the  small  town  of  Moate 
is  scarcely  a  model  hostel.  The  entrance  hall  is 
too  much  encumbered  by  tramps  and  beggars  of 
various  orders  and  ages,  who  not  only  resort  there 
to  take  their  meals  and  play  at  cards,  but  to  di- 
vide the  spoil  and  settle  the  accounts  of  their  sev- 
eral "industries,"  and  occasionally  to  clear  off 
other  scores  which  demand  police  interference. 
On  the  left  is  the  bar  ;  the  right-hand,  being  used 
as  the  office  of  a  land-agent,  is  besieged  by  crowds 
of  country  people,  in  whom,  if  language  is  to  be 


trusted,  the  grievous  wrongs  of  land-tenure  are 
painfully  portrayed — nothing  but  complaint,  dog- 
ged determination,  and  resistance  being  heard  on 
every  side.  Behind  the  bar  is  a  long  low-ceilinged 
apartment,  the  parlor  par  excellence,  only  used  by 
distinguished  visitors,  and  reserved  on  one  espe- 
cial evening  of  the  week  for  the  meeting  of  the 
"Goats,"  as  the  members  of  a  club  call  themselves 
— the  chief,  indeed  the  founder,  being  our  friend 
Maurice  Kearney,  whose  title  of  sovereignty  was 
' '  Buck-Goat, "  and  whose  portrait,  painted  by  a 
native  artist  and  presented  by  the  society,  figured 
over  the  chimney-piece.  The  village  Vandyke 
would  seem  to  have  invested  largely  in  carmine, 
and  though  far  from  parsimonious  of  it  on  the 
cheeks  and  the  nose  of  his  sitter,  he  was  driven 
to  work  off  some  of  his  superabundant  stock  on 
the  cravat,  and  even  the  hands,  which,  though 
amicably  crossed  in  front  of  the  white- waistcoated 
stomach,  are  fearfully  suggestive  of  some  recent 
deed  of  blood.  The  pleasant  geniality  of  the 
countenance  is,  however,  re-assuring.  Nor — ex- 
cept a  decided  squint,  by  which  the  artist  had  am- 
bitiously attempted  to  convey  a  humoristic  droll- 
ery to  the  expression — is  there  any  thing  sinister 
in  the  portrait. 

An  inscription  on  the  frame  announces  that 
this  picture  of  their  respected  founder  was  pre- 
sented, on  his  fiftieth  birthday,  "To  Maurice 
Kearney,  sixth  Viscount  Kilgobbin  ; "  various  de- 
vices of  "  caprine"  significance,  heads,  horns,  and 
hoofs,  profusely  decorating  the  frame.  If  the 
antiquarian  should  lose  himself  in  researches  for 
the  origin  of  this  society,  it  is  as  well  to  admit,  at 
once,  that  the  landlord's  sign  of  the  "Blue  Goat" 
gave  the  initiative  to  the  name,  and  that  the  wor- 
thy associates  derived  nothing  from  classical  au- 
thority, and  never  assumed  to  be  descendants  of 
fauns  or  satyrs,  but  respectable  shop-keepers  of 
Moate,  and  unexceptional  judges  of  "poteen." 
A  large  jug  of  this  insinuating  liquor  figured  on 
the  table,  and  was  called  "Goat's-milk  ;"and  if 
these  humoristic  traits  are  so  carefully  enumer- 
ated, it  is  because  they  comprised  all  that  was 
specially  droll  or  quaint  in  these  social  gatherings, 
the  members  of  which  were  a  very  commonplace 
set  of  men,  who  discussed  their  little  local  topics  in 
very  ordinary  fashion,  slightly  elevated,  perhaps, 
in  self-esteem,  by  thinking  how  little  the  outer 
world  knew  of  their  dullness  and  dreariness. 

As  the  meetings  were  usually  determined  on 
by  the  will  of  the  president,  who  announced  at 
the  hour  of  separation  when  they  were  to  re-as- 
semble, and  as,  since  his  niece's  arrival,  Kearney 
had  almost  totally  forgotten  his  old  associates,  the 
club-room  ceased  to  be  regarded  as  the  holy  of 
holies,  and  was  occasionally  used  by  the  landlord 
for  the  reception  of  such  visitors  as  he  deemed 
worthy  of  peculiar  honor. 

It  was  on  a  very  wet  night  of  that  especially 
rainy  month  in  the  Irish  calendar,  July,  that  two 
travelers  sat  over  a  turf  fire  in  this  sacred  cham-' 
ber,  various  articles  of  their  attire  being  spread 
out  to  dry  before  the  blaze,  the  owners  of  which 
actually  steamed  with  the  effects  of  the  heat  upon 
their  damp  habiliments. 

Some  fishing-tackle  and  two  knapsacks,  which 
lay  in  a  corner,  showed  they  were  pedestrians, 
arid  their  looks,  voice,  and  manner  proclaimed 
them  still  more  unmistakably  to  be  gentlemen. 

One  was  a  tall,  sunburnt,  soldier-like  man  of 
six  or  seven  and  thirty,  powerfully  built,  and  with 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


!•;; 


that  solidity  of  gesture  and  firmness  of  tread 
sometimes  bo  marked  with  Btrong  men.     A  hut.' 

glance  at  liim  showed  he  was  a  cold,  silent,  some- 
what haughty  man,  not  given  to  hasty  resolves, 
or  in  any  way  impulsive,  ami  it  is  just  possible 
that  a  long  acquaintance  with  him  would  not  have 
revealed  a  great  deal  more.  He  had  served  in  a 
halt'  dozen  regiments;  and  although  all  declared 
that  Henry  Lockwood  was  an  honorable  fellow, 
a  good  soldier,  and  thoroughly  "safe" — a  \erv 
meaning  epithet — there  were  no  very  deep  regrets 
when  he  "  exchanged. "  nor  was  there,  perhaps, 
one  man  who  felt  he  had  lost  his  "pal"  by  his  go- 
ing. He  was  now  in  the  carbineers,  and  serving 
as  an  extra  aid-de-camp  to  the  Vieeroy. 

Not  a  little  unlike  him  in  most  respects  was  the 
man  who  sat  opposite  him  :  a  pale,  finely  feat- 
ured, almost  effeminate-looking  young  fellow, 
with  a  small  line  of  dark  mustache,  and  a  beard 
en  Henri  Quatre,  to  the  effect  of  which  a  collar 
cut  in  Vandyke  fashion  gave  an  especial  signifi- 
cance. Cecil  Walpole  was  disposed  to  be  picto- 
rial in  his  get-up.  and  the  purple  dyeof  his  knick- 
erbocker  stockings,  the  slouching  plumage  of  his 
Tyrol  hat,  and  the  graceful  hang  of  his  jacket,  had 
excited  envy  in  quarters  where  envy  was  fame. 
He.  too,  was  on  the  vice-regal  star!*,  being  pri- 
vate secretary  to  his  relative  the  Lord-Lieutenant, 
during  whose  absence  in  England  they  had  un- 
dertaken a  ramble  to  the  Westmeath  lakes,  not 
very  positive  whether  their  object  was  to  angle  for 
trout  or  to  fish  for  that  "  knowledge  of  Ireland-' 
so  popularly  sought  after  in  our  day,  and  which 
displays  itself  so  profusely  in  platform  speeches 
and  letters  to  The  Times.  Lockwood,  not  impos- 
sibly, would  have  said  it  was  "  to  do  a  bit  of  walk- 
ing"' he  had  come.  He  had  gained  eight  pounds 
by  that  indolent  Phoenix  Park  life  he  was  lead- 
ing, and  he  had  no  fancy  to  go  back  to  Leicester- 
shire too  heavy  for  his  cattle.  He  was  not — few 
hunting  men  are — an  ardent  fisherman ;  and  as 
for  the  vexed  question  of  Irish  politics,  he  did  not 
see  why  he  was  to  trouble  his  head  to  unravel  the 
puzzles  that  were  too  much  for  Mr.  Gladstone  ; 
not  to  say  that  he  felt  to  meddle  with  these  mat- 
ters was  like  interfering  with  another  man's  de- 
partment. "  I  don't  suspect,"  he  would  say.  "  I 
should  fancy  John  Bright  coming  down  to  'stables' 
and  dictating  to  me  how  my  Irish  horses  should 
be  shod,  or  what  was  the  best  bit  for  a  '  borer.' " 
He  saw,  besides,  that  the  game  of  politics  was  a 
game  of  compromises  :  something  was  deemed 
admirable  now  that  had  been  hitherto  almost  ex- 
ecrable ;  and  that  which  was  utterly  impossible  to- 
day, if  done  last  year  would  have  been  a  triumph- 
ant success,  and  consequently  he  pronounced  the 
whole  tiling  an  "imposition  and  a  humbug." 
"I  can  understand  a  right  and  a  wrong  as  well 
as  any  man,''  he  would  say.  "  but  I  know  noth- 
ing about  things  that  are  neither  or  both,  accord- 
ing to  who's  in  or  who's  out  of  tin' Cabinet.  Give 
me  the  command  of  twelve  thousand  men,  let  me 
divide  them  into  three  flying  columns,  and  if  I 
don't  keep  Ireland  quiet,  draft  me  into  a  West 
Indian  regiment,  that's  all."  And  as  to  the  idea 
ol  issuing  Bpecia]  commissions,  passing  new  Acts 

of  Parliament,  OT Suspending  Old  ones,  to  do  what 
he  or  any  other  intelligent  soldier  could  do  with- 
out any  knavery  or  any  corruption,  '•John  Bright 
might  tell  us,"  but  he  couldn't.  And  here  it 
may  be  well  to  observe  that  it  was  a  favorite  form 
of  speech  with  him  to  refer  to  this  illustrious  pub- 


lic man  in  this  familiar  manner;    but  always  to 

show  what  a  condition  of  muddle  and  confusion 

muBl  ensue  if  we  followed  the  counsels  that  name 
emblematized;  nor  did  lie  know  a  more  cutting 
sarcasm  to  reply  to  an  adversary  than  when  he 
had.  said:  "Oh,  John  Bright  would  agree  with 

you, "or,  "  I  don't  think  John  Bright  could  go 
farther.'' 

Of  a  very  different  stamp  was  his  Companion. 
He  was  a  young  gentleman  whom  we  can  not 
more  easily  characterize  than  by  calling  him,  in 
the  cant  of  the  day,  "of  the  period."  lie  was 
essentially  the  most  recent  product  of  the  age  we 
live  in.  Manly  enough  in  some  things,  he  was 
fastidious  in  others  to  the  very  verge  of  effemi- 
nacy ;  an  aristocrat  by  birth  and  by  predilection, 
he  made  a  parade  of  democratic  opinions.  He 
affected  a  sort  of  Crichtonism  in  the  variety  of 
his  gifts,  and  as  linguist,  musician,  artist,  poet, 
and  philosopher,  loved  to  display  the  scores  of 
tilings  he  might  be,  instead  of  that  mild,  very  or- 
dinary young  gentleman  that  he  was.  He  had 
done  a  little  of  almost  every  thing  ;  he  had  been 
in  the  Guards,  in  diplomacy,  in  the  House  for  a 
brief  session,  had  made  an  African  tour,  written 
a  pleasant  little  book  about  the  Nile,  with  the  il- 
lustrations by  his  own  hand.  Still  he  was  great- 
er in  promise  than  performance.  There  was  an 
opera  of  his  partly  finished ;  a  five-act  comedy 
almost  ready  for  the  stage ;  a  half-executed 
group  he  had  left  in  some  studio  in  Rome 
showed  what  he  might  have  done  in  sculpture. 
When  his  distinguished  relative  the  Marquis  of 
Danesbury  recalled  him  from  his  post  as  secreta- 
ry of  legation  in  Italy,  to  join  him  at  his  Irish 
seat  of  government,  the  phrase  in  which  he  in- 
vited him  to  return  is  not  without  its  significance, 
and  we  give  it  as  it  occurred  in  the  context :  "I 
have  no  fancy  for  the  post  they  have  assigned 
me,  nor  is  it  what  I  had  hoped  for.  They  say, 
however,  I  shall  succeed  here.  Notts  verrons. 
Meanwhile  I  remember  your  often  remarking, 
'  There  is  a  great  game  to  be  played  in  Ireland.' 
Come  over  at  once,  then,  and  let  me  have  a  talk 
with  you  over  it.  I  shall  manage  the  question 
of  your  leave,  by  making  you  private  secretary  for 
the  moment.  We  shall  have  many  difficulties, 
but  Ireland  will  he  the  worst  of  them.  Do  not 
delay,  therefore  ;  for  I  shall  only  go  over  to  be 
sworn  in,  etc.,  and  return  for  the  third  reading 
of  the  Church  Bill,  and  I  should  like  to  see  you 
in  Dublin  (and  leave  you  there)  when  I  go." 

Except  that  they  were  both  members  of  the 
household,  and  English  by  birth,  there  was  scarce- 
ly a  tie  between  these  very  dissimilar  natures; 
but  somehow  the  accidents  of  daily  life,  stronger 
than  the  traits  of  disposition,  threw  them  into  in- 
timacy, and  they  agreed  it  would  be  a  good  thing 
"to  see  something  of  Ireland;"  and  with  this 
wise  resolve  they  had  set  out  on  that  half-lishing 
excursion,  wbich,  having  taken  them  over  the 
Westmeath  lakes,  now  was  directing  them  to  the 
Shannon,  but  with  an  infirmity  of  purpose  to 
which  lack  of  sport  and  disastrous  weather  were 
contributing  powerfully  at  the  moment  we  have 
presented  them  to  our  reader. 

To  employ  the  phrase  which  it  is  possible  each 

might  have  used,  they  "liked  each  other  well 
enough" — that  K  each  found  something  in  the 
other  he  "could  get  on  with  :"  but  there  was  no 
stronger  tie  of  regard  or  friendship  between  them, 
and  each  thought  he  perceived  some  Haw  of  pre- 


24 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


tension,  or  affected  wisdom,  or  selfishness,  or 
vanity,  in  the  other,  and  actually  believed  he 
amused  himself  by  its  display.  In  natures, 
tastes,  and  dispositions,  they  were  miles  asunder, 
and  disagreement  between  them  would  have  been 
unceasing  on  every  subject,  had  they  not  both 
been  gentlemen.  It  was  this  alone — this  gentle- 
man element — made  their  companionship  possi- 
ble, and,  in  the  long  run,  not  unpleasant.  So 
much  more  has  good-breeding  to  do  in  the  com- 
mon working  of  daily  life  than  the  more  valua- 
ble qualities  of  mind  and  temperament. 

Though  much  younger  than  his  companion, 
Walpole  took  the  lead  in  all  the  arrangements  of 
the  journey,  determined  where  and  how  long 
they  should  halt,  and  decided  on  the  route  next 
to  be  taken ;  the  other  showing  a  real  or  affected 
indifference  on  all  these  matters,  and  making  of 
his  town-bred  apathy  a  very  serviceable  quality 
in  the  midst  of  Irish  barbarism  and  desolation. 
On  politics,  too — if  that  be  the  name  for  such 
light  convictions  as  they  entertained — they  dif- 
fered ;  the  soldier's  ideas  being  formed  on  what 
he  fancied  would  be  the  late  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton's opinion,  and  consisting  in  what  he  called 
"putting  down."  Walpole  was  a  promising 
Whig  —  that  is,  one  who  coquets  with  Radical 
notions,  but  fastidiously  avoids  contact  with  the 
mob  ;  and  who,  fervently  believing  that  all  popu- 
lar concessions  are  spurious  if  not  stamped  with 
Whig  approval,  would  like  to  treat  the  democrat- 
ic leaders  as  forgers  and  knaves. 

If,  then,  there  was  not  much  of  similarity  be- 
tween these  two  men  to  attach  them  to  each  oth- 
er, there  was  what  served  for  a  bond  of  union  : 
they  belonged  to  the  same  class  in  life,  and  used 
pretty  nigh  the  same  forms  for  their  expression 
of  like  and  dislike ;  and  as  in  traffic  it  contrib- 
utes wonderfully  to  the  facilities  of  business  to 
use  the  same  money,  so  in  the  common  inter- 
course of  life  will  the  habit  to  estimate  things  at 
the  same  value  conduce  to  very  easy  relations, 
and  something  almost  like  friendship. 

While  they  sat  over  the  fire  awaiting  their  sup- 
per, eacli  had  lighted  a  cigar,  busying  himself 
from  time  to  time  in  endeavoring  to  dry  some 
drenched  article  of  dress,  or  extracting  from 
damp  and  dripping  pockets  their  several  contents. 

"  This,  then,"  said  the  younger  man —  "this 
is  the  picturesque  Ireland  our  tourist  writers  tell 
us  of;  and  the  land  where  The  Times  says  the 
traveler  will  find  more  to  interest  him  than  in  the 
Tyrol  or  the  Oberland !" 

"  What  about  the  climate  ?"  said  the  other,  in 
a  deep  bass  voice. 

"  Mild  and  moist,  I  believe,  are  the  epithets ; 
that  is,  it  makes  you  damp  and  it  keeps  you  so." 

"  And  the  inns?" 

"The  inns,  it  is  admitted,  might  be  better; 
but  the  traveler  is  admonished  against  fastidious- 
ness, and  told  that  the  prompt  spirit  of  obligeance, 
the  genial  cordiality,  he  will  meet  with,  are  more 
than  enough  to  repay  him  for  the  want  of  more 
polished  habits  and  mere  details  of  comfort  and 
convenience." 

"Rotten  humbug',  /don't  want  cordiality 
from  my  innkeeper." 

"I  should  think  not!  As,  for  instance,  a  bit 
of  carpet  in  this  room  would  be  worth  more  than 
all  the  courtesy  that  showed  us  In." 

"  What  was  that  lake  called — the  first  place,  I 
mean?"  asked  Lockwood. 


"  Loch  Iron.  I  shouldn't  say  but  with  better 
weather  it  might  be  pretty. " 

A  half  grunt  of  dissent  was  all  the  reply,  and 
Walpole  went  on : 

"It's  no  use  painting  a  landscape  when  it  is  to 
be  smudged  all  over  with  Indian  ink.  There  are 
no  tints  in  mountains  swathed  in  mist,  no  color 
in  trees  swamped  with  moisture ;  every  thing 
seems  so  imbued  with  damp,  one  fancies  it  would 
take  two  years  in  the  tropics  to  dry  Ireland." 

"I  asked  that  fellow  who  showed  us  the  way 
here  why  he  didn't  pitch  off  those  wet  rags  he 
wore,  and  walk  away  in  all  the  dignity  of  naked- 
ness." 

A  large  dish  of  rashers  and  eggs,  and  a  mess 
of  Irish  stew,  which  the  landlord  now  placed  on 
the  table,  with  a  foaming  jug  of  malt,  seemed  to 
rally  them  out  of  their  ill  temper ;  and  for  some 
time  they  talked  away  in  a  more  cheerful  tone. 

"  Better  than  I  hoped  for,"  said  Walpole. 

"Fair." 

"And  that  ale,  too — I  suppose  it  is  called  ale 
— is  very  tolerable." 

"It's  downright  good.  Let  us  have  some 
more  of  it."  And  he  shouted  "  Master!"  at  the 
top  of  his  voice.  "  More  of  this,"  said  Lock- 
wood,  touching  the  measure.  "Beer  or  ale, 
which  is  it  ?" 

"  Castle  Bellingham,  Sir,"  replied  the  landlord ; 
"beats  all  the  Bass  and  Allsopp  that  ever  was 
brewed. " 

"  You  think  so,  eh  ?" 

"  I'm  sure  of  it,  Sir.  The  club  that  sits  here 
had  a  debate  on  it  one  night,  and  put  it  to  the 
vote,  and  there  wasn't  one  man  for  the  English 
liquor.  My  lord  there,"  said  he,  pointing  to  the 
portrait,  "  sent  an  account  of  it  all  to  Saunders's 
newspaper." 

While  he  left  the  room  to  fetch  the  ale  the 
travelers  both  fixed  their  eyes  on  the  picture,  and 
Walpole,  rising,  read  out  the  inscription — "Vis- 
count Kilgobbin." 

"There's  no  such  title,"  said  the  other,  bluntly. 

"Lord  Kilgobbin — Kilgobbin.  Where  did  I 
hear  that  name  before  ?" 

"  In  a  dream,  perhaps." 

"  No,  no.  I  have  heard  it,  if  I  could  only  re- 
member where  and  how  !  I  say,  landlord,  where 
does  his  lordship  live?"  and  he  pointed  to  the 
portrait. 

' '  Beyond,  at  the  Castle,  Sir.  You  can  see  it 
from  the  door  without  when  the  weather's  fine." 

"  That  must  mean  on  a  very  rare  occasion  !" 
said  Lockwood,  gravely. 

"No,  indeed,  Sir.  It  didn't  begin  to  rain  on 
Tuesday  last  till  after  three  o'clock." 

"Magnificent  climate!"  exclaimed  Walpole, 
enthusiastically. 

"It  is  indeed,  Sir.  Glory  be  to  God!"  said 
the  landlord,  with  an  honest  gravity  that  set  them 
both  off  laughing. 

"  How  about  this  club — does  it  meet  often  ?" 

"  It  used,  Sir,  to  meet  every  Thursday  evening, 
and  my  lord  never  missed  a  night,  but  quite  late- 
ly he  took  it  in  his  head  not  to  come  out  in  the 
evenings.  Some  say  it  was  the  rheumatism,  and 
more  says  it's  the  unsettled  state  .of  the  country  : 
though,  the  Lord  be  praised  for  it,  there  wasn't  a 
man  fired  at  in  the  neighborhood  since  Easter, 
and  he  was  a  peeler." 

"  One  of  the  constabulary  ?" 

' '  Yes,  Sir  ;   a  dirty,  mean  chap,  that  was  look- 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


ing  after  a  poor  hoy  thai  set  fire  to  Mr.  Hagin's 
ricks,  and  that  was  over  a  your  ago." 
"And  naturally  forgotten  by  this  time?" 
".Bycoorseil  was-forgotten.    OuldMa!  Eagin 
got  a  presentment  for  the  damage  onl  of  the  Grand 

Jury,  and  nobody  was  the  worse  for  it  at  all." 

"And  bo  the  club  is  smashed,  eh?" 

••  A>  good  as  smashed,  Sir ;   for  whenever  any 

of  them  conies  now  of  an  evening,  he  just  goes 
int. i  the  bar  and  takes  his  glass  there."  He  sigh- 
ed heavily  as  he  said  this,  and  seemed  overcome 
with  Badness. 

••  I'm  trying  to  remember  why  the  name  is  so 
familiar  to  me.  I  know  I  have  heard  of  Lord 
Kilgobbin  before,"  said  Walpole. 

"Maybe  so,"  said  the  landlord,  respectfully. 

'"You  may  have  read  in  books  how  it  was  at  Kil- 
gohhin  Castle  King  .lames  came  to  stop  after  the 
Boyne;  that  he  held  a  'coort'  there  in  the  big 
drawing-room  —  they  call  it  the  '  throne-room' 
ever  since — and  slept  two  nights  at  the  Castle 
afterward  ?" 

"That's  something  to  see,  Walpole,"  said 
Lock  wood. 

••  So  it  is.  How  is  that  to  be  managed,  land- 
lord? Does  his  lordship  permit  strangers  to  visit 
the  Castle  ?*' 

"Nothing  easier  than  that.  Sir,"  said  the  host, 
who  gladly  embraced  a  project  that  should  detain 
his  guests  at  the  inn.  "My  lord  went  through 
the  town  this  morning  on  his  way  to  Loughrea 
fair  :  but  the  young  ladies  is  at  home  ;  and  you've 
only  to  send  over  a  message,  and  say  you'd  like 
to  see  the  place,  and  they'll  be  proud  to  show  it 
to  you." 

"  Let  us  send  our  cards,  with  aline  in  pencil," 
said  Walpole,  in  a  whisper  to  his  friend. 

"And  there  are  young  ladies  there?"  asked 
Lock  wood. 

"Two  born  beauties ;  it's  hard  to  say  which  is 
L°ndsomest,"  replied  the  host,  overjoyed  at  the 
attraction  his  neighborhood  possessed. 

"  I  suppose  that  will  do  ?"  said  Walpole,  show- 
ing what  he  bad  written  on  his  card. 

"Yes,  perfectly." 

"Dispatch  this  at  once — I  mean  early  to-mor- 
row :  and  let  your  messenger  ask  if  there  be  an 
answer.     How  far  is  it  oil'.''' 

"A  little  over  twelve  miles,  Sir;  but  I've  a 
mare  in  the  stable  will  '  rowl'  ye  over  in  an  hour 
ami  a  quarter." 

"All  right.  We'll  settle  on  every  thing  after 
breakfast  to-morrow."  And  the  landlord  with- 
drew, having  them  once  more  alone. 

"This  means,"  said  Lockwood,  drearily,  "  we 
shall  hav.-  to  pass  a  day  in  this  wretched  place." 

"It   will  take  a  day  to  dry  OUT  wet  clothes; 

and.  all  things  considered,  one  might  be  worse 

oft  than  here.  Besides,  I  shall  want  to  look  over 
my  DOtes.  I  bave  done  next  to  nothing,  up  to 
tin-  time,  about  the  land  question." 

"I  thought  that  the  old  fellow  with  the  cow, 
the  fellow  I  gave  a  cigar  to,  had  made  you  up  in 

your  tenant-right  affair,"  said  Lockwood. 

"  He  gave  me  a  great  deal  of  very  valuable  in- 
formation :  lie  exposed  some  of  tin-  evils  of  ten- 
ancy at  will  as  ably  as  I  ever  heard  them  treated, 

but  he  was  Occasionally  hard  on  the  landlord." 
"I  suppose  one  word  of  truth  never  came  out 

of  his  mouth  '." 

"On  the  contrary,  real  knowledge  of  Ireland 

is  not  to  be  acquired  from  newspapers ;   a  man 


mUBl  Bee  Ireland  for  himself— si  i  it,"  repeated  lie, 

with  strong  emphasis. 

"  And  then  ?" 

"And  then,  if  he  be  a  capable  man.  a  reflect- 
ing man,  a  man  in  whom  the  perceptive  power  is 

joined  to  the  social  faculty — " 

""  Look  here,  <  lecil  :  one  hearer  won't  make  a 
house:  don't  try  it  on  speechifying  to  me.  It's 
all  humbug  coming  over  to  look  at  Ireland.  You 
may  pick  up  a  little  brogue,  but  it's  all  you'll  pick 
up  for  your  journey.''  After  this,  for  him  unu- 
sually long  speech,  he  finished  his  glass,  lighted 
his  bedroom  candle,  and  nodding  a  good-night, 
strolled  away. 

"I'd  give  a  crown  to  know  where  I  beard  of 
you  before!"  said  Walpole,  as  he  stared  up  at  the 
portrait. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


Tin;   COUSINS. 


"Only  think  of  it !"  cried  Kate  to  her  cousin, 
as  she  received  Walpole's  note.  "Can  you  fan- 
cy, Nina,  any  one  having  the  curiosity  to  imagine 
this  old  house  worth  a  visit  ?  Here  is  a  polite 
request  from  two  tourists  to  be  allowed  to  see  the 
— what  is  it? — the  interesting  interior  of  Kilgob- 
bin Castle !" 

' '  Which  I  hope  and  trust  you  will  refuse.  The 
people  who  are  so  eager  for  these  tilings  are  in- 
variably tiresome  old  bores,  grubbing  for  antiqui- 
ties, or  intently  bent  on  adding  a  chapter  to  their 
story  of  travel.  You'll  say  no,  dearest,  won't 
you"?" 

"  Certainly,  if  you  wish  it.  I  am  not  acquaint- 
ed with  Captain  Lockwood,  nor  his  friend  Mr. 
Cecil  Walpole." 

"  Did  you  say  Cecil  Walpole  ?"  cried  the  other, 
almost  snatching  the  card  from  her  fingers.  "Of 
all  the  strange  chances  in  life  this  is  the  very 
strangest !  What  could  have  brought  Cecil  Wal- 
pole here  ?" 

"  You  know  him,  then?" 

"I  should  think  I  do  !  What  ducts  have  we 
not  sung  together?  What  waltzes  have  we  not 
had?  What  rides  over  the  Campagna?  Oh 
dear!  how  I  should  like  to  talk  over  those  old 
times  again  !  Pray  tell  him  he  may  come,  Kate, 
or  let  me  do  it." 

"  And  papa  away!" 

"  It  is  the  ( 'astle,  dearest,  he  wants  to  see,  not 
papa!  You  don't  know  what  manner  of  creatine 
this  is  !  He  is  one  of  your  refined  and  supreme- 
ly cultivated  English — mad  about  archaeology, 
and  medieval  trumpery.  He'll  know  all  your 
ancestors  intended  by  every  insane  piece  of  ar- 
chitecture, and  every  puzzling  detail  of  this  old 
house;  and  he'll  light  Dp  every  corner  of  it  with 
some  gleam  of  bright  tradition." 

■•  I  thought  these  sort  of  people  were  bore 

dear?"  said  Kate,  with  a  sly  malice  in  her  look. 
"Of  course  not.      When  they  are  well-bred, 
and  well-mannered — " 

"  And  perhaps  well-looking  ?"  chimed  in  Kate. 

"  Yes.  and  so  he  is— a  little  of  the  '  petit-mai- 

tre,'  perhaps.      He's  much  of  that   Bchool  which 

fiction-writers  describe  as  having  '  finely-penciled 

eyebrows  and  chins  ofalmOSt  woman-hke  round- 
ness :'    but  people   ill    Home   always    called  him 

handsome  —thai  is,  if  he  be  my  ( lecil  Walpole." 

"  Well,  then,  will  you  tell  rOUnCeci]  Walpole, 


r    .rv  ■ 


26 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


in  such  polite  terms  as  you  know  how  to  coin, 
that  there  is  really  nothing  of  the  very  slightest 
pretension  to  interest  in  this  old  place ;  that  we 
should  be  ashamed  at  having  lent  ourselves  to 
the  delusion  that  might  have  led  him  here  ;  and 
lastly,  that  the  owner  is  from  home  ?" 

"  What!  and  is  this  the  Irish  hospitality  I  have 
heard  so  much  of — the  cordial  welcome  the  stran- 
ger may  reckon  on  as  a  certainty,  and  make  all 
his  plans  with  the  full  confidence  of  meeting  ?" 

"  There  is  such  a  thing  as  discretion,  also,  to 
be  remembered,  Nina,"  said  Kate,  gravely. 

"And  then  there's  the  room  where  the  king 
slept,  and  the  chair  that — no,  not  Oliver  Crom- 
well, but  somebody  else  sat  in  at  supper,  and 
there's  the  great  patch  painted  on  the  floor  where 
your  ancestor  knelt  to  be  knighted." 

"He  was  created  a  viscount,  not  a  knight!" 
said  Kate,  blushing.  "  And  there  is  a  difference, 
I  assure  you." 

"  So  there  is,  dearest,  and  even  my  foreign  ig- 
norance should  know  that  much,  and  you  have 
the  parchment  that  attests  it — a  most  curious 
document,  that  Walpole  would  be  delighted  to 
see.  I  almost  fancy  him  examining  the  curious 
old  seal  with  his  microscope,  and  hear  him  un- 
folding all  sorts  of  details  one  never  so  much  as 
suspected." 

"Papa  might  not  like  it,"  said  Kate,  bridling 
up.  "Even  were  he  at  home,  I  am  far  from 
certain  he  would  receive  these  gentlemen.  It  is 
little  more  than  a  year  ago  there  came  here  a 
certain  book-writing  tourist,  and  presented  him- 
self without  introduction.  We  received  him  hos- 
pitably, and  he  staid  part  of  a  week  here.  He 
was  fond  of  antiquarianism,  but  more  eager  still 
about  the  condition  of  the  people — what  kind  of 
husbandry  they  practiced,  what  wages  they  had, 
and  what  food.  Papa  took  him  over  the  whole 
estate,  and  answered  all  his  questions  freely  and 
openly.  And  this  man  made  a  chapter  of  his  book 
upon  us,  and  headed  it  '  Rack-renting  and  riotous 
living,'  distorting  all  he  heard  and  sneering  at  all 
he  saw." 

"These  are  gentlemen,  dearest  Kate,"  said 
Nina,  holding  out  the  card.  "Come  now,  do 
tell  me  that  I  may  say  you  will  be  happy  to  see 
them." 

"  If  you  must  have  it  so — if  you  really  insist — " 

"I  do!  I  do!"  cried  she,  half  wildly.  "I 
should  go  distracted  if  you  denied  me.  Oh, 
Kate !  I  must  own  it — it  will  out.  I  do  cling 
devotedly — terribly — to  that  old  life  of  the  past. 
I  am  very  happy  here,  and  you  are  all  good,  and 
kind,  and  loving  to  me  ;  but  that  wayward,  hap- 
hazard existence,  with  all  its  trials  and  miseries, 
had  yet  little  glimpses  of  such  bliss  at  times  that 
rose  to  actual  ecstasy." 

"  I  was  afraid  of  this,"  said  Kate,  in  a  low  but 
firm  voice.  "  I  thought  what  a  change  it  would 
be  for  you  from  that  life  of  brightness  and  festivi- 
ty to  this  existence  of  dull  and  unbroken  dreari- 
ness." 

"No,  no,  no  !  Don't  say  that !  Do  not  fancy 
that  I  am  not  happier  than  I  ever  was  or  ever  be- 
lieved I  could  be.  It  was  the  castle-building  of 
that  time  that  I  was  regretting.  I  imagined  so 
many  things,  I  invented  such  situations,  such  in- 
cidents, which,  with  this  sad-colored  landscape 
here  and  that  leaden  sky,  I  have  no  force  to  con- 
jure up.  It  is  as  though  the  atmosphere  is  too 
weighty  for  fancy  to  mount  in  it.     You,  my  dear- 


est Kate,"  said  she,  drawing  her  arm  round  her, 
and  pressing  her  toward  her,  "do  not  know  these 
things,  nor  need  ever  know  them.  Your  life  is 
assured  and  safe.  You  can  not,  indeed,  be  secure 
from  the  passing  accidents  of  life,  but  they  will 
meet  you  in  a  spirit  able  to  confront  them.  As 
for  me,  I  was  always  gambling  for  existence,  and 
gambling  without  means  to  pay  my  losses  if  For- 
tune should  turn  against  me.  Do  you  understand 
me,  child  ?" 

' '  Only  in  part,  if  even  that, "  said  she,  slowly. 

"Let  us  keep  this  theme,  then,  for  another 
time.  Now  for  ces  messieurs.  I  am  to  invite 
them  ?" 

' '  If  there  was  time  to  ask  Miss  O'Shea  to  come 
over — " 

"  Do  you  not  fancy,  Kate,  that  in  your  father's 
house,  surrounded  with  your  father's  servants, 
you  are  sufficiently  the  mistress  to  do  without  a 
chaperon?  Only  preserve  that  grand  austere 
look  you  have  listened  to  me  with,  these  last  ten 
minutes,  and  I  should  like  to  see  the  youthful 
audacity  that  could  brave  it.  There,  I  shall  go 
and  write  my  note.  You  shall  see  how  discreet- 
ly and  properly  I  shall  word  it. " 

Kate  walked  thoughtfully  toward  a  window 
and  looked  out,  while  Nina  skipped  gayly  down 
the  room,  and  opened  her  writing-desk,  humming 
an  opera  air  as  she  wrote : 

"  KlLGOBBIN  CA8TLE. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Walpole, — I  can  scarcely  tell 
you  the  pleasure  I  feel  at  the  prospect  of  seeing 
a  dear  friend,  or  a  friend  from  dear  Italy,  which- 
ever be  the  most  proper  to  say.  My  uncle  is 
from  home,  and  will  not  return  till  the  day  after 
to-morrow  at  dinner ;  but  my  cousin,  Miss  Kear- 
ney, charges  me  to  say  how  happy  she  will  be  to 
receive  you  and  your  fellow-traveler  at  luncheon 
to-morrow.  Pray  not  to  trouble  yourself  with  an 
answer,  but  believe  me  very  sincerely  yours, 

"Nina  Kostalergi." 

"I  was  right  in  saying  luncheon,  Kate,  and  not 
dinner — was  I  not?     It  is  less  formal." 

"  I  suppose  so  ;  that  is,  if  it  was  right  to  invite 
them  at  all,  of  which  I  have  very  great  misgiv- 
ings." 

"  I  wonder  what  brought  Cecil  Walpole  down 
here  ?"  said  Nina,  glad  to  turn  the  discussion  into 
another  channel.  "  Could  he  have  heard  that  I 
was  here  ?  Probably  not.  It  was  a  mere  chance, 
I  suppose.  Strange  things  these  same  chances 
are,  that  do  so  much  more  in  our  lives  than  all 
our  plottings ! " 

"Tell  me  something  of  your  friend,  perhaps  I 
ought  to  say  your  admirer,  Nina." 

' '  Yes,  very  much  my  admirer ;  not  seriously, 
you  know,  but  in  that  charming  sort  of  adoration 
we  cultivate  abroad,  that  means  any  thing  or  noth- 
ing. He  was  not  titled,  and  I  am  afraid  he  was 
not  rich,  and  this  last  misfortune  used  to  make 
his  attentions  to  me  somewhat  painful — to  him  I 
mean,  not  to  me  ;  for,  of  course,  as  to  any  thing 
serious,  I  looked  much  higher  than  a  poor  Secre- 
tary of  Legation." 

"Did  you  ?"  asked  Kate,  with  an  air  of  quiet 
simplicity. 

"I  should  hope  I  did,"  said  she,  haughtily; 
and  she  threw  a  glance  at  herself  in  a  large  mir- 
ror, and  smiled  proudly  at  the  bright  image  that 
confronted  her.    ' '  Yes,  darling,  say  it  out, "  cried 


LOUD  KILGOBBIN. 


27 


she,  turning  to  Kate.  "Your  eves  have  ottered 
tin'  words  already." 

••  What  words?" 

"  Something  about  insufferable  vanity  and  con- 
ceit, and  1  own  to  both.  Oh,  why  is  it  thai  my 
high  spirits  have  bo  run  away  with  me  this  morn- 
ing that  1  have  forgotten  all  reserve  and  all 
shame?  But  the  truth  is,  I  feel  half  wild  with 
joy,  and  joy  in  iiuj  nature  a  another  name  for 
recklessness.'1 

"I  sincerely  hope  not,"  said  Kate,  gravely, 
"At  any  rate,  von  give  me  another  reason  for 
wishing  to  have  Miss  O'Shea  here." 

"I  will  not  have  her — no,  not  for  worlds,  Kate 
— that  odious  old  woman,  with  her  stiff  and  an- 
tiquated propriety.     Cecil  would  quiz  her." 

" 1  am  very  certain  he  would  not  ;  at  least  if 
he  be  such  a  perfect  gentleman  as  you  tell  me." 

"Ah,  but  you'd  never  know  he  did  it.  The 
line  tact  of  these  consummate  men  of  the  world 
derives  a  humorist ic  enjoyment  in  eccentricity  of 
character,  which  never  shows  itself  in  any  out- 
ward sign  beyond  the  heightened  pleasure  they 
feel  in  what  other  folks  might  call  dullness  or 
mere  oddity." 

"I  would  not  suffer  an  old  friend  to  be  made 
the  subject  of  even  such  latent  amusement." 

"  Nor  her  nephew  either,  perhaps  ?" 

'•The  nephew  could  take  care  of  himself,  Nina; 
but  I  am  not  aware  that  he  will  be  called  on  to 
do  so.     He  is  not  in  Ireland,  I  believe." 

' '  He  was  to  arrive  this  week.    You  told  me  so. " 

"Perhaps  I  did ;  I  had  forgotten  it ;"  and  Kate 
flushed  as  she  spoke,  though  whether  from  shame 
or  anger  it  was  not  easy  to  say.  As  though  im- 
patient with  herself  at  any  display  of  temper,  she 
added,  hurriedly,  "  Was  it  not  a  piece  of  good  for- 
tune, Nina  ?  Papa  has  left  us  the  key  of  the  cel- 
lar, a  thing  he  never  did  before,  and  only  now  be- 
cause you  were  here !" 

"What  an  honored  guest  I  am!"  said  the  other, 
smiling. 

"  That  you  are !  I  don't  believe  papa  has  gone 
once  to  the  club  since  you  came  here." 

"  Now,  if  I  were  to  own  that  I  was  vain  of  this, 
you'd  rebuke  me,  would  not  you  ?" 

'•  Our  love  could  scarcely  prompt  to  vanity." 

"How  shall  I  ever  learn  to  be  humble  enough 
in  a  family  of  such  humility  ?"  said  Nina,  pettish- 
ly. Then  quickly  correcting  herself,  she  said, 
"I'll  go  and  dispatch  my  note,  and  then  I'll 
come  back  and  ask  your  pardon  for  all  my  will- 
fulness, and  tell  you  how  much  I  thank  you  for 
all  your  goodness  to  me." 

And,  as  she  spoke,  she  bent  clown  and  kissed 
Kate's  hand  twice  or  thrice  fervently. 

"Oh,  dearest  Nina,  not  this — not  this!''  said 
Kate,  trying  to  clasp  her  in  her  arms  ;  but  the 
other  had  slipped  from  her  grasp,  and  was  gone. 

"Strange  girl  {"mattered  Kate,  looking  after 
her.  "I  wonder  shall  I  ever  understand  you,  or 
shall  we  ever  understand  each  other  'i" 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

SHOWING    now    IKIl.NHS    MAY   DIFFER. 

The  morning  broke  drearily  for  our  friends, 
the  two  pedestrians  at  the  "  Blue  Goat."  A  day 
of  dull  aspect  and  soft  rain  in  midsummer  has  the 
added  depression  that  it  seems  an  anachronism. 


One  is  iii  a  measure  prepared  for  being  weather- 
bound in  winter.  You  accept  imprisonment  as 
tlii-  natural    fortune  of  the   season,  or  you   brave 

the  elements  prepared  to  let  them  do  their  worst, 

while,  if  Confined  to  the  house,  you  have  that  sol- 
ace of  Mingness,  that  comfortable  chimney-corner 
which  somehow  realizes  an  immense  amount  of 

the  joys  we  concentrate  in  the  word  "Home." 
It  is  in  the  want  of  this  rallying-point.  this  little 
domestic  altar,  where  all  gather  together  in  a  com- 
mon worship,  that  lies  the  dreary  discomfort  of 
being  weather-bound  in  summer;  and  when  the 
prison  is  some  small  village  inn,  noisy,  disorderly, 
and  dirty,  the  misery  is  complete. 

"Grand  old  pig  that!"  said  Lockwood,  as  he 
gazed  out  upon  the  filthy  yard,  where  a  fat  old 
sow  contemplated  the  weather  from  the  threshold 
of  her  dwelling. 

"I  wish  she'd  come  out.  I  want  to  make  a 
sketch  of  her,"  said  the  other. 

"  Even  one's  tobacco  grows  too  damp  to  smoke 
in  this  blessed  climate,"  said  Lockwood,  as  he 
pitched  his  cigar  away.  "  Heigh-ho !  We're  too 
late  for  the  train  to  town,  I  see." 

"  You'd  not  go  back,  would  you  ?" 

"I  should  think  I  would!  That  old  den  in 
the  upper  Castle-yard  is  not  very  cheery  or  very 
nice,  but  there  is  a  chair  to  sit  on,  and  a  review 
and  a  newspaper  to  read.  A  tour  in  a  country 
and  with  a  climate  like  this  is  a  mistake." 

"  I  suspect  it  is,"  said  AValpole,  drearily. 

"There  is  nothing  to  see,  no  one  to  talk  to, 
nowhere  to  stop  at  I " 

"All  true,"  muttered  the  other.  "By-the- 
way,  haven't  we  some  plan  or  project  for  to-day 
— something  about  an  old  castle  or  an  abbey  to 
see  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  the  waiter  brought  me  a  letter.  I 
think  it  was  addressed  to  you,  and  I  left  it  on  my 
dressing-table.  I  had  forgotten  all  about  it.  I'll 
go  and  fetch  it." 

Short  as  his  absence  was,  it  gaveWalpole  time 
enough  to  recur  to  his  late  judgment  on  his  tour. 
and  once  more  call  it  a  "mistake,  a  complete 
mistake."  The  Ireland  of  wits,  dramatists,  and 
romance-writers  was  a  conventional  thing,  and 
bore  no  resemblance  whatsoever  to  the  rain-soak- 
ed, dreary-looking,  depressed  reality.  "  These 
Irish,  they  are  odd  without  being  droll,  just  as 
they  are  poor  without  being  picturesque  ;  but  of 
all  the  delusions  we  nourish  about  them,  there  is 
not  one  so  thoroughly  absurd  as  to  call  them  dan- 
gerous!" 

He  had  just  arrived  at  this  mature  opinion, 
when  his  friend  re-entered  and  handed  him  the 
note. 

"  Here  is  a  piece  of  luck  !  Per  Bacco!"  cried 
Walpole,  as  he  ran  over  the  lines.  "This  beats 
all  I  could  have  hoped  for.  Listen  to  this  ■ 
'  Dear  Mr.  Walpole, — I  call  not  tell  you  the  de- 
light I  feel  in  the  prospect  of  seeing  a  dear  friend, 
or  a  friend  from  dear  Italy,  which  is  ii  ?'  " 

"  Who  writes  this  ?" 

"A  certain  Mademoiselle  Kostalergi,  whom  I 
knew  at  Rome;  one  of  the  prettiest,  cleverest, 
and  nicest  girls  I  ever  met  in  my  life." 

"  Not  the  daughter  of  that  precious  Count 
Kostalergi  you  have  told  me  such  stories  of?" 

'The  same,  but  most  unlike  him  in  every  way. 
Sin-  is  here,  apparently  with  ail  uncle,  who  is  now 
from  home,  and  she  and  her  cousin  invite  us  to 
luncheon  to-day.'' 


28 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"  What  a  lark ! "  said  the  other,  dryly. 
"  We'll  go,  of  course  ?" 
"  In  weather  like  this  ?" 

"  Why  not  ?  Shall  we  be  better  off  staying  here? 
I  now  begin  to  remember  how  the  name  of  this 
place  was  so  familiar  to  me.  She  was  always 
asking  me  if  I  knew  or  heard  of  her  mother's 
brother,  the  Lord  Kilgobbin,  and,  to  tell  truth, 
I  fancied  some  one  had  been  hoaxing  her  with  the 
name,  and  never  believed  that  there  was  even  a 
place  with  such  a  designation. " 

"  Kilgobbin  does  not  sound  like  a  lordly  title. 
How  about  Mademoiselle — what  is  the  name  ?" 

"  Kostalergi ;  they  call  themselves  princes." 

"  With  all  my  heart.  I  was  only  going  to  say, 
as  you've  got  a  sort  of  knack  of  entanglement, 
is  there  or  has  there  been  any  thing  of  that  sort 
here  ?" 

"  Flirtation  ? — a  little  of  what  is  called  '  spoon- 
ing'— but  no  more.     But  why  do  you  ask  ?" 

"  First  of  all,  you  are  an  engaged  man." 

"  All  true,  and  I  mean  to  keep  my  engagement. 
I  can't  marry,  however,  till  I  get  a  mission,  or 
something  at  home  as  good  as  a  mission.  Lady 
Maude  knows  that — her  friends  know  it ;  but 
none  of  us  imagine  that  we  are  to  be  miserable 
in  the  mean  time." 

"  I'm  not  talking  of  misery.  I'd  only  say, 
don't  get  yourself  into  any  mess.  These  foreign 
girls  are  very  wide  awake." 

"  Don't  believe  that,  Harry ;  one  of  our  home- 
bred damsels  would  give  them  a  distance  and 
beat  them  in  the  race  for  a  husband.  It's  only 
in  England  girls  are  trained  to  angle  for  marriage, 
take  my  word  for  it." 

"Be  it  so — I  only  warn  you  that  if  }rou  get 
into  any  scrape  I'll  accept  none  of  the  conse- 
quences. Lord  Danesbury  is  ready  enough  to 
say  that,  because  I'm  some  ten  years  older  than 
you,  I  should  have  kept  you  out  of  mischief.  I 
never  contracted  for  such  a  bear-leadership; 
though  I  certainly  told  Lady  Maude  I'd  turn 
queen's  evidence  against  you  if  you  became  a 
traitor." 

"I  wonder  you  never  told  me  that  before,"  said 
Walpole,  with  some  irritation  of  manner. 

"I  only  wonder  that  I  told  it  now!"  replied 
the  other,  gruffly. 

"Then  I'm  to  take  it,  that  in  your  office  of 
guardian  you'd  rather  we'd  decline  this  invitation, 
eh?" 

"  I  don't  care  a  rush  for  it  either  way,  but  look- 
ing to  the  sort  of  day  it  is  out  there,  I  incline  to 
keep  the  house." 

"  I  don't  mind  bad  weather,  and  I'll  go,"  said 
Walpole,  in  a  way  that  showed  temper  was  in- 
volved in  the  resolution. 

Lockwood  made  no  other  reply  than  heaping 
a  quantity  of  turf  on  the  fire,  and  seating  himself 
beside  it. 

When  a  man  tells  his  fellow-traveler  that  he 
means  to  go  his  own  road — that  companionship 
has  no  tie  upon  him— he  virtually  declares  the 
partnership  dissolved ;  and  while  Lockwood  sat 
reflecting  over  this,  he  was  also  canvassing  with 
himself  how  far  he  might  have  been  to  blame  in 
provoking  this  hasty  resolution. 

"Perhaps  he  was  irritated  at  my  counsels,  per- 
haps the  notion  of  any  thing  like  guidance  offend- 
ed him  ;  perhaps  it  was  the  phrase,  bear-leader- 
ship, and  the  half  threat  of  betraying  him,  has 
done  the  mischief."     Now  the  gallant  soldier  was 


a  slow  thinker  ;  it  took  him  a  deal  of  time  to  ar- 
range the  details  of  any  matter  in  his  mind,  and 
when  he  tried  to  muster  his  ideas  there  were 
many  which  would  not  answer  the  call,  and  of 
those  which  came,  there  were  not  a  few  which 
seemed  to  present  themselves  in  a  refractory  and 
unwilling  spirit,  so  that  he  had  almost  to  suppress 
a  mutiny  before  he  proceeded  to  his  inspection. 

Nor  did  the  strong  cheroots,  which  he  smoked 
to  clear  his  faculties  and  develop  his  mental  re- 
sources, always  contribute  to  this  end,  though 
their  soothing  influence  certainly  helped  to  make 
him  more  satisfied  with  his  judgments. 

"Now  look  here,  Walpole,"  said  he,  deter- 
mining that  he  would  save  himself  all  unnecessa- 
ry labor  of  thought  by  throwing  the  burden  of 
the  case  on  the  respondent — "look  here:  take 
a  calm  view  of  this  thing,  and  see  if  it's  quite 
wise  in  you  to  go  back  into  trammels  it  cost  you 
some  trouble  to  escape  from.  You  call  it  spoon- 
ing, but  you  won't  deny  you  went  very  far  with 
that  young  woman — farther  I  suspect  than  you've 
told  me  yet.     Eh !  is  that  true  or  not  ?" 

He  waited  a  reasonable  time  for  a  reply,  but 
none  coming,  he  went  on:  "I  don't  want  a 
forced  confidence.  You  may  say  it's  no  business 
of  mine,  and  there  I  agree  with  you,  and  proba- 
bly if  you  put  me  to  the  question  in  the  same 
fashion,  I'd  give  you  a  very  short  answer.  Re- 
member one  thing,  however,  old  fellow  :  I've  seen 
a  precious  deal  more  of  fife  and  the  world  than 
you  have !  From  sixteen  years  of  age,  when  you 
were  hammering  away  at  Greek  verbs  and  some 
such  balderdash  at  Oxford,  I  was  up  at  Rangoon 
with  the  very  fastest  set  of  men — ay,  of  women 
too — I  ever  lived  with  in  all  my  life.  Half  of 
our  fellows  were  killed  off  by  it.  Of  course  peo- 
ple will  say  climate,  climate !  but  if  I  was  to  give 
you  the  history  of  one  day — just  twenty-four  hours 
of  our  life  up  there — you'd  say  that  the  wonder 
is  there's  any  one  alive  to  tell  it." 

He  turned  around  at  this,  to  enjoy  the  expres- 
sion of  honor  and  surprise  he  hoped  to  have 
called  up,  and  perceived  for  the  first  time  that  he 
was  alone.  He  rang  the  bell,  and  asked  the 
waiter  where  the  other  gentleman  had  gone,  and 
learned  that  he  had  ordered  a  car,  and  set  out 
for  Kilgobbin  Castle  more  than  half  an  hour  be- 
fore. 

"All  right,"  said  he,  fiercely.  "I  wash  my 
hands  of  it  altogether !  I'm  heartily  glad  I  told 
him  so  before  he  went."  He  smoked  on  very 
vigorously  for  half  an  hour,  the  burden  of  his 
thoughts  being  perhaps  revealed  by  the  summing- 
up,  as  he  said,  "And  when  you  are  'in  for  it,' 
Master  Cecil,  and  some  precious  scrape  it  will  be, 
if  I  move  hand  or  foot  to  pull  you  through  it, 
call  me  a  major  of  marines,  that's  all — just  call 
me  a  major  of  marines!"  The  ineffable  horror 
of  such  an  imputation  served  as  matter  for  reverie 
for  hours. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A    DRIVE    THROUGH    A    BOG. 

While  Lockwood  continued  thus  to  doubt  and 
debate  with  himself,  Walpole  was  already  some 
miles  on  his  way  to  Kilgobbin.  Not,  indeed,  that 
he  had  made  any  remarkable  progress,  for  the 
"mare  that  was  to  rowl  his  honor  over  in  an 
hour  and  a  half"  had  to  be  taken  from  the  field 


LOUD  KILGOBBIN. 


29 


/mm,. 


where  she  had  been  plowing  since  daybreak, 
■while  "  the  hoy-'  that  should  drive  her  was  a  lit- 
tle old  man  who  had  to  be  aroused  from  a  con- 
dition of  drunkenness  in  a  hay-loft,  and  installed 
in  his  office. 

Nor  were  these  the  only  difficulties.  The  roads 
that  led  through  the  bog  were  so  numerous  and 
so  completely  alike  that  it  only  needed  the  dense 
atmosphere  of  a  rainy  day  to  make  it  matter  of 
great  difficulty  to  discover  the  right  track.  More 
than  once  were  they  obliged  to  retrace  their  steps 
after  a  considerable  distance,  and  the  driver's  im- 
patience always  took  the  shape  of  a  reproach  to 
Walpole,  who,  having  nothing  else  to  do,  should 
surely  have  minded  where  they  were  going.  Now, 
not  only  was  the  traveler  utterly  ignorant  of  the 
geography  of  the  land  he  journeyed  in,  but  his 
thoughts  were  far  and  away  from  the  scenes 
around  him.  Very  scattered  and  desultory 
thoughts  were  they,  at  one  time  over  the  Alps 
and  with  '•  long-agos :"  nights  at  Rome  clash- 
ing with  mornings  on  the  Campagna;  vast  sa- 
loons crowded  with  people  of  many  nations,  all 
more  or  less  busy  with  that  great  traffic  which, 
whether  it  take  the  form  of  religion,  or  politics, 
cm-  social  intrigue,  hate,  love,  or  rivalry,  makes  up 
what  we  call  "the  world;"  or  there  were  sunsets 
dying  away  rapidly — as  they  will  do — over  that 
great  plain  outside  the  city,  whereon  solitude  and 
silence  are  as  much  masters  as  on  a  vast  prairie 
of  the  West;  and  he  thought  of  times  when  he 
rode  back  at  nightfall  beside  Nina  Kostalergi, 
when  little  Hashes  would  cross  them  of  that  ro- 
mance that  very  worldly  folk  now  and  then  taste 

of.  and  delight  in  with  a  zest  all  tin'  greater  that 

the  sensation  is  so  new  and  Strang-  to  them. 
Then  there  was  the  revulsion  from  the  Maze  of 
wax-lights  and  the  glitter  of  diamonds,  the  crash 
of  orchestras,  and  the  din  of  conversation,  the 
intoxication  of  the  (lattery  that  Champagne  only 
seems  to  ••accentuate"  to  the  unbroken  -tillne-- 
of  the  hour,  when  even  the  footfall  of  the  horse  is 
unheard,  and  a  dreamy  doubt  that  this  quietude, 
this  soothing  sense  of  calm,  is  higher  happiness 


than  all  the  glitter  and  all  tie-  splendor  of  the 
ball-room,  and  that  in  the  dropping  words  we 
now   exchange,  and  in  the  stray  glance.-,  there  i- 

a  significance  and  an  exquisite  delight  we  never 

felt  till  now  :  for,  glorious  as  i-  the  thought  of  a 
returned  affection,  full  of  ecstasy,  the  sense  of  a 
heart  all,  all  our  own,  there  i-  in  the  lir.-t  half- 
doubtful,  distrustful  feeling  of  falling  in  love, 
with  all  its  chances  of  BUCCeSS  or  failure,  some- 
thing that  has  its  moments  of  bliss  nothing  of 
earthly  delight  can  ever  equal  To  the  verge  of 
that  possibility  Walpole  had  reached — but  gone 
no  farther — with  Nina  Kostalergi.  The  young 
men  of  the  age  are  an  eminently  calculating  and 
prudent  class,  and  they  count  the  COS)  of  an  ac- 
tion with  a  marvelous  amount  of  accuracy.  Is  it 
the  turf  and  its  teachings  to  which  this  crafty  and 
cold-blooded  spirit  is  owing?  Have  they  learned 
to  "square  their  book"  on  life  by  the  lessons  of 
Ascot  and  Newmarket,  and  seen  that,  no  matter 
how  probably  they  "stand  to  win"  on  this,  they 
must  provide  for  that,  and  that  no  caution  or  fore- 
sight is  enough  that  will  not  embrace  every  casu- 
alty of  any  venture? 

There  is  no  need  to  tell  a  younger  son  of  the 
period  that  he  must  not  marry  a  pretty  girl  of 
doubtful  family  and  no  fortune.  He  may  have 
his  doubts  on  scores  of  subjects:  he  may  not  be. 
quite  sure  whether  he  ought  to  remain  a  Whig 
with  Lord  Russell,  or  go  in  for  Odgcrism  and  the 
ballot :  he  may  be  uncertain  about  Colenso,  and 
have  his  misgivings  about  the  Pentateuch ;  he 
may  not  be  easy  in  his  mind  about  the  Russians 
in  the  East,  or  the  Americans  in  the  West ;  un- 
comfortable suspicions  may  cross  him  that  the 
Volunteers  are  not  as  quick  in  evolution  as  the 
Zouaves,  or  that  England  generally  does  not  sing 
"Rule  Britannia*'  so  lustily  as  she  used  to  do. 
All  these  are  possible  misgivings,  but  that  he 
should  take  such  a  plunge  as  matrimony,  on  oth- 
er grounds  than  the  perfect  prudence  and  profit 
of  the  investment,  could  never  occur  to  him. 

As  to  the  sinfulness  of  tampering  with  a  girl's 
affections  by  what  in  slang  is  called  "  spooning," 
it  was  purely  absurd  to  think  of  it.  You  might 
as  well  say  that  playing  sixpenny  whist  made  a 
man  a  gambler.  And  then,  as  to  the  spooning] 
it  was  partie  egale,  the  lady  was  no  worse  off  than 
the  gentleman.  If  there  were  by  tiny  hazard — 
and  this  he  was  disposed  to  doubt—"  affections" 
at  stake,  the  man  "  stood  to  lose"  as  much  as  the 
woman.  But  this  was  not  the  aspect  in  which 
the  case  presented  itself,  flirtation  being,  in  hi.1: 
idea,  to  marriage,  what  the  preliminary  canter 
is  to  the  race — something  to  indicate  the  future, 
but  so  dimly  and  doubtfully  as  not  to  decide  the 
hesitation  of  the  waverer. 

If.  then,  Walpole  was  never  for  a  moment  what 
mothers  call  serious  in  his  intentions  to  Mile. 
Kostalergi,  he  was  not  the  less  fond  of  her  society  ; 
he  frequented  the  places  where  she  was  likely  to 
be  met  with,  and  paid  her  that  degree  of  "  court" 
that  only  stopped  short  of  being  particular  by  his 
natural  caution.      There  was  the  more  need  for 

the  exercise  of  this  quality  at  Rome,  since  there 
were  many  there  who  knew  of  hi-  i  ngaj  emenl 

with  his  cousin.  Lady  .Maude,  and  w  ho  Would  not 
have  hesitated  to  report  on  any  breach  of  fidelity. 

Now.  however,  all  these  restraints  were  withdrawn. 

They  were  not  in  Italy,  where  London,  bj  a  change 

of  venue,  take-  it-  "records" to  be  tried  in  the 

dull   days  of  winter.      They  were  in  Ireland,  and 


LORD  RTLGOBBIN. 


in  a  remote  spot  of  Ireland,  where  there  were  no 
gossips,  no  clubs,  no  afternoon  tea-committees,  to 
sit  on  reputations,  and  was  it  not  pleasant  now  to 
see  this  nice  girl  again  in  perfect  freedom  ?  These 
were,  loosely  stated,  the  thoughts  which  occupied 
him  as  he  went  along,  very  little  disposed  to  mind 
how  often  the  puzzled  driver  halted  to  decide  the 
road,  or  how  frequently  he  retraced  miles  of  dis- 
tance. Men  of  the  world,  especially  when  young 
in  life,  and  more  realistic  than  they  will  be  twen- 
ty years  later,  proud  of  the  incredulity  they  can 
feel  on  the  score  of  every  thing  and  every  body, 
are  often  fond  of  making  themselves  heroes  to 
their  own  hearts  of  some  little  romance,  which 
shall  not  cost  them  dearly  to  indulge  in,  and  mere- 
ly engage  some  loose-lying  sympathies  without  in 
any  way  prejudicing  their  road  in  life.  They  ac- 
cept of  these  sentimentalities,  as  the  vicar's  wife 
did  the  sheep  in  the  picture,  pleased  to  "have  as 
many  as  the  painter  would  put  in  for  nothing." 

Now,  Cecil  Walpole  never  intended  that  this 
little  Irish  episode — and  episode  he  determined  it 
should  be — should  in  any  degree  affect  the  serious 
fortunes  of  his  life.  He  was  engaged  to  his  cousin, 
Lady  Maude  Bickerstaffe,  and  they  would  be  mar- 
ried some  day.  Not  that  either  was  very  impa- 
tient to  exchange  present  comfort — and,  on  her 
side,  affluence — for  a  marriage  on  small  means, 
and  no  great  prospects  beyond  that.  They  were 
not  much  in  love.  Walpole  knew  that  the  Lady 
Maude's  fortune  was  small,  but  the  man  who  mar- 
ried her  must  ' '  be  taken  care  of, "  and  by  either 
side,  for  there  were  as  many  Tories  as  Whigs  in 
the  family,  and  Lady  Maude  knew  that  half  a 
dozen  years  ago  she  woidd  certainly  not  have  ac- 
cepted' Walpole ;  but  that  with  every  year  her 
chances  of  a  better  parti  were  diminishing ;  and, 
worse  than  all  this,  each  was  well  aware  of  the 
inducements  by  which  the  other  was  influenced. 
Nor  did  the  knowledge  in  any  way  detract  from 
their  self-complacence  or  satisfaction  with  the 
match. 

Lady  Maude  was  to  accompany  her  uncle  to 
Ireland,  and  do  the  honors  of  his  court,  for  he 
was  a  bachelor,  and  pleaded  hard  with  his  party 
on  that  score  to  be  let  off  accepting  the  viceroy- 
alty. 

Lady  Maude,  however,  had  not  yet  arrived, 
and  even  if  she  had,  how  should  she  ever  hear  of 
an  adventure  in  the  Bog  of  Allen  ? 

But  was  there  to  be  an  adventure  ?  and,  if  so, 
what  sort  of  adventure  ?  Iiishmen,  Walpole  had 
heard,  had  all  the  jealousy  about  their  women 
that  characterizes  savage  races,  and  were  ready 
to  resent  what,  in  civilized  people,  no  one  would 
dream  of  regarding  as  matter  for  umbrage.  Well, 
then,  it  was  only  to  be  more  cautious — more  on 
one's  guard — besides  the  tact,  too,  which  a  knowl- 
edge of  life  should  give. 

"Eh,  what's  this?  Why  are  you  stopping 
here?"  This  was  addressed  now  to  the  driver, 
who  had  descended  from  his  box,  and  was  stand- 
ing in  advance  of  the  horse. 

"Why  don't  I  drive  on,  is  it?"  asked  he,  in  a 
voice  of  despair.     "Sure  there's  no  road." 

"And  does  it  stop  here?"  cried  Walpole,  in 
horror,  for  he  now  perceived  that  the  road  really 
came  to  an  abrupt  ending  in  the  midst  of  the  bog. 
"  Begorra,  it's  just  what  it  does.  Ye  see,  your 
honor,"  added  he,  in  a  confidential  tone,  "it's 
one  of  them  tricks  the  English  played  us  in  the 
year  of  the  famine.     They  got  two  millions  of 


money  to  make  roads  in  Ireland,  but  they  were 
so  afraid  it  would  make  us  prosperous  and  richer 
than  themselves,  that  they  set  about  making  roads 
that  go  nowhere.  Sometimes  to  the  top  of  a 
mountain,  or  down  to  the  sea,  where  there  was 
no  harbor,  and  sometimes,  like  this  one,  into  the 
heart  of  a  bog. " 

"  That  was  very  spiteful,  and  very  mean  too," 
said  Walpole. 

"  Wasn't  it  just  mean,  and  nothing  else !  and 
it's  five  miles  we'll  have  to  go  back  now  to  the 
cross-roads.  Begorra,  your  honor,  it's  a  good 
dhrink  ye'll  have  to  give  me  for  this  day's  work. " 
' '  You  forget,  my  friend,  that  but  for  your  own 
confounded  stupidity  I  should  have  been  at  Kil- 
gobbin  Castle  by  this  time." 

"And  ye'll  be  there  yet,  with  God's  help!" 
said  he,  turning  the  horse's  head.  "  Bad  luck  to 
them  for  the  road-making !  and  it's  a  pity,  after 
all,  it  goes  nowhere,  for  it's  the  nicest  bit  to  travel 
in  the  whole  country." 

"Come  now,  jump  up,  old  fellow,  and  make 
your  beast  step  out.  I  don't  want  to  pass  the 
night  here." 

"You  wouldn't  have  a  dhrop  of  whisky  with 
your  honor  ?" 

"  Of  course  not." 
"Nor  even  brandy  ?" 
"No,  not  even  brandy." 
"Musha,  I'm  thinking  you  must  be  English," 
muttered  he,  half  sulkily. 

"And  if  I  were,  is  there  any  great  harm  in 
that?" 

"By  coorse  not;  how  could  ye  help  it?  I 
suppose  we'd  all  of  us  be  better  if  we  could.  Sit 
a  bit  more  forward,  your  honor  ;  the  belly-band 
does  be  lifting  "her,  and  as  you're  doing  nothing, 
just  give  her  a  welt  of  that  stick  in  your  hand, 
now  and  then,  for  I  lost  the  lash  off  my  whip, 
and  I've  nothing  but  this."  And  he  displayed 
the  short  handle  of  what  had  once  been  a  whip, 
with  a  thong  of  leather  dangling  at  the  end. 

' '  I  must  say,  I  wasn't  aware  that  I  was  to  have 
worked  my  passage,"  said  Walpole,  with  some- 
thing between  drollery  and  irritation. 

"She  doesn't  care  for  bating — stick  her  with 
the  end  of  it.  That's  the  way.  We'll  get  on 
elegant  now.  I  suppose  you  was  never  here  be- 
fore ?" 

"  No  ;  and  I  think  I  can  promise  you  I'll  not 
come  again." 

"  I  hope  you  will,  then,  and  many  a  time  too. 
This  is  the  Bog  of  Allen  you're  traveling  now, 
and  they  tell  there's  not  the  like  of  it  in  the  three 
kingdoms." 

"I  trust  there's  not!" 

"  The  English,  they  say,  has  no  bogs.     Noth- 
ing but  coal." 
"Quite  true." 

"  Erin,  ma  bouchal  you  are  !  first  gem  of  the 
say !  that's  what  Dan  O'Connell  always  called 
you. — Are  you  gettin'  tired  with  the  stick  ?" 

"I'm  tired  of  your  wretched  old  beast,  and 
your  car,  and  yourself  too,"  said  Walpole  ;  ' '  and 
if  I  were  sure  that  was  the  Castle  yonder,  I'd 
make  my  way  straight  to  it  on  foot. " 

"  AncLwJiy  wouldn't  you,  if  your  honor  liked  it 
best  ?  Why  would  you  be  beholden  to  a  car  if 
you'd  rather  walk  ?  Only  mind  the  bog-holes  ; 
tor  there's  twenty  feet  of  water  in  some  of  them, 
and  the  sides  is  so  straight  you'll  never  get  out 
if  you  fall  in." 


LOUD  KILGOBBIN. 


"Drive  on,  then.  I'll  remain  where  I  am; 
hut  don't  bother  me  with  your  talk  ;  and  no  more 
questioning." 

"  By  COOrse  I  won't — why  would  I?  Isn't 
your  honor  a  gentleman,  and  haven't  you  a  right 
to  say  what  von  plage?  and  what  am  I  hut  a 
poor  hoy,  earning  his  bread?  .lust  the  way  it  is 
all  through  the  world:  some  has  every  thing  they 
want  and  more  besides  :  and  others  hasn't  a  stitch 
to  their  baeks,  or  maybe  a  pinch  of  baeey  to  put 
in  a  pipe." 

This  appeal  was  timed  by  seeing  that  Walpole 
had  just  lighted  a  fresh  cigar,  whose  fragrant 
fumes  were  wafted  across  the  speaker's  nose. 

Firm  to  his  determination  to  maintain  silenee, 
Walpole  paid  no  attention  to  the  speeeh,  nor  ut- 
tered a  word  of  any  kind  ;  and  as  a  light  driz- 
zling rain  had  now  began  to  fall,  and  obliged  him 
to  shelter  himself  under  an  umbrella,  he  was  at 
length  saved  from  his  companion's  loquacity. 
Baffled,  hut  not  beaten,  the  old  fellow  began  "to 
sing,  at  first  in  a  low,  droning  tone  ;  but  growing 
louder  as  the  fire  of  patriotism  warmed  him,  he 
shouted,  to  a  very  wild  and  somewhat  irregular 
tune,  a  ballad,  of  which  Walpole  could  not  but 
hear  the  words  occasionally,  while  the  tramping 
of  the  fellow's  feet  on  the  foot-board  kept  time 
to  his  song : 

"'Tis  our  fun  they  can't  forgive  ns, 
Nor  onr  wit  so  sharp  and  keen; 
Bat  there's  nothing  that  provokes  them 

Like  our  weariu'  of  the  green. 
They  thought  poverty  would  bate  us, 

But  we'd  sell  our  last  "boneen," 
Ami  we'd  live  on  cowld  paytatees, 
All  for  wearin'  of  the  green. 

Oh,  the  wearin'  of  the  green— the  wearin'  of 

the  green ! 
'Tis  the  color  best  becomes  us 
Is  the  wearin'  of  the  green  I" 

"  Here's  a  cigar  for  you,  old  fellow,  and  stop 
that  infernal  chant." 

"  There's  only  five  verses  more,  and  I'll  sing 
them  for  your  honor  before  I  light  the  baccy." 

"  If  you  do,  then  you  shall  never  light  baccy 
of  mine.  Can't  you  see  that  your  confounded 
song  is  driving  me  mad  ?" 

"  Faix,  ye're  the  first  I  ever  see  disliked  music," 
muttered  he,  in  a  tone  almost  compassionate. 

And  now  as  Walpole  raised  the  collar  of  his 
coat  to  defend  his  ears,  and  prepared,  as  well  as 
he  might,  to  resist  the  weather,  he  muttered, 
"And  this  is  the  beautiful  land  of  scenery  ;  and 
this  the  climate  ;  and  this  the  amusing  and  witty 
peasant  we  read  of.  I  have  half  a  mind  to  tell 
the  world  how  it  has  been  humbugged!"  And 
thus  musing,  he  jogged  on  the  dreary  road,  nor 
raised  his  head  till  the  heavy  clash  of  an  iron 
gate  aroused  him,  and  he  saw  that  they  were 
driving  along  an  approach,  with  some  clumps  of 
pretty  but  young  timber  on  either  side. 

"He  we  are,  your  honor,  safe  and  sound," 
cried  the  driver,  as  proudly  as  if  he  had  not  been 
five  hours  over  what  should  have  been  done  in 
one  and  a  half.  "This  is  Kilgohbin.  All  the 
ould  trees  was  cut  down  byOliv^Oromwell,  they 
say,  but  there  will  be  a  fine  wood  here  yet.  That's 
the  Castle  you  Bee  yonder,  over  them  trees;  but 
there's  no  fiag  flying.  The  lord's  away.  1  -im- 
pose I'll  have  to  wait  for  your  honor?  You'll 
be  coming  back  with  me?" 

"  Yes,  you'll  have  to  wait."  And  Walpole 
looked  at  his  watch,  and  saw  it  was  already  past 
five  o'clock. 


CHAPTER  X. 
Tin:  SKABCB   FOB  Aims. 

Wiikn-  the  hour  of  luncheon  came,  and  no 
guests  made  their  appearance,  the  young  girls  at 
the  Castle  began  to  discuss  what  they  should  best 

do.     "  I  know  nothing  of  fine  people  and  their 

ways,"  said  Kate:  "you  must  take  the  whole  di- 
rection here.  Nina." 

"  It  is  only  a  question  of  time,  and  a  cold  lunch- 
eon can  wait  without  difficulty." 

And  so  they  waited  till  three,  then  till  four,  and 
now  it  was  five  o'clock  ;  when  Kate,  who  had  been 
over  the  kitchen-garden,  and  the  calves'  paddock, 
and  inspecting  a  small  tract  laid  out  for  a  nurs- 
ery, came  back  to  the  house  very  tired,  and,  as 
she  said,  also  very  hungry.  "  You  know,  Nina," 
said  she,  entering  the  room,  "  I  ordered  no  din- 
ner to-day.  1  speculated  on  our  making  our  din- 
ner when  your  friends  lunched;  and  as  they  have 
not  lunched  we  have  not  dined  ;  and  I  vote  we  sit 
down  now.  I'm  afraid  I  shall  not  be  as  pleasant 
company  as  that  Mr. — do  tell  me  his  name— Wal- 
pole— but  I  pledge  myself  to  have  as  good  an  ap- 
petite." 

Nina  made  no  answer.  She  stood  at  the  open 
window,  her  gaze  steadily  bent  on  the  strip  of  nar- 
row road  that  traversed  the  wide  moor  before  her. 

"Ain't  you  hungry?  I  mean,  ain't  you  fam- 
ished, child  ?"  asked  Kate. 

"  No,  I  don't  think  so.  I  could  eat,  but  I  be- 
lieve I  could  go  without  eating  just  as  well." 

"  Well,  I  must  dine  ;  and  if  you  were  not  look- 
ing so  nice  and  fresh,  with  a  rose-bud  in  your 
hair,  and  your  white  dress  so  daintily  looped  up, 
I'd  ask  leave  not  to  dress." 

"  If  you  were  to  smooth  your  dress,  and,  per- 
haps, change  your  hoots — " 

"Oh,  I  know,  and  become  in  every  respect  a  lit- 
tle civilized.  My  poor  dear  cousin,  what  a  mis- 
sion you  have  undertaken  among  the  savages ! 
Own  it  honestly,  you  never  guessed  the  task  that 
was  before  you  when  you  came  here." 

"Oh,  it's  very  nice  savagery,  all  the  same,'' 
said  the  other,  smiling  pleasantly. 

"There  now!"  cried  Kate,  as  she  threw  her 
hat  to  one  side,  and  stood  arranging  her  hair  be- 
fore the  glass.  "I  make  this  toilet  under  pro- 
test, for  we  are  going  in  to  luncheon,  not  dinner; 
and  all  the  world  knows,  and  all  the  illustrated 
newspapers  show,  that  people  do  not  dress  for 
lunch  —  and,  by-the-way,  that  is  something  you 
have  not  got  in  Italy — all  the  women  gathering 
together  in  their  garden-bonnets  and  their  morn- 
ing mnslins,  and  the  men  in  their  knickerbockers 
and  their  coarse  tweed  coals." 

"I  declare  I  think  you  are  in  better  spirits 
Bince  you  Bee  these  people  are  not  coming." 

"It  is  true.  You  have  guessed  it,  dearest.  The 
thought  of*  any  thing  grand — as  a  visitor;  any- 
thing that  would  for  a  moment  BUggest  the  un- 
ples  ant  question,  !s  this  right  ?  or.  Is  that  usual? 
makes  me  downright  irritable.      Come,  are  you 

ready?     .May  I  offer  you  my  arm  ?" 

And  now  they  were  at  table.  Kate  rattling  away 
in  unwonted  gayety,  and  trying  to  rally  Nina  out 
of  her  disappointment. 

"I  declare,   Nina,  every  tiling  is  so  pretty  I'm 

ashamed  to  eat.     Those  chickens  near  you  arc 

the  least  ornamental  things  I  B66.  Cut  me  off  a 
wing.  Oh.  I  forgot,  you  never  acquired  the  bar- 
barons  art  of  carving." 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"  I  can  cut  this,"  said  Nina,  drawing  a  dish  of 
tongue  toward  her. 

"  What !  that  marvelous  production  like  a  par- 
terre of  flowers  ?  It  would  be  downright  profa- 
nation to  destroy  it." 

"Then  shall  I  give  you  some  of  this,  Kate?" 

"Why,  child,  that  is  strawberry  cream.  But 
I  can  not  eat  all  alone ;  do  help  yourself." 

"I  shall  take  something  by-and-by." 

"  What  do  young  ladies  in  Italy  eat  when  they 
are — no,  I  dou't  mean  in  love — I  shall  call  it — in 
despair  ?" 

"  Give  me  some  of  that  white  wine  beside  you. 
There !  don't  you  hear  a  noise  ?  I'm  certain  I 
heard  the  sound  of  wheels." 

"Most  sincerely,  I  trust  not.  I  wouldn't  for 
any  thing  these  people  should  break  in  upon  us 
now.  If  my  brother  Dick  should  drop  in  I'd  wel- 
come him,  and  he  would  make  our  little  party 
perfect.  Do  you  know,  Nina,  Dick  can  be  so  jolly. 
What's  that?  there  are  voices  there  without." 

As  she  spoke  the  door  was  opened,  and  Wal- 
pole  entered.  The  young  girls  had  but  time  to 
1  ise  from  their  seats,  when — they  never  could  ex- 
actly say  how — they  found  themselves  shaking 
hands  with  him  in  great  cordiality. 

"And  your  friend — where  is  he?" 

"Nursing  a  sore  throat,  or  a  sprained  ankle, 
or  a  something  or  other.  Shall  I  confess  it — as 
only  a  suspicion  on  my  part,  however — that  I  do 
believe  he  was  too  much  shocked  at  the  outra- 
geous liberty  I  took  in  asking  to  be  admitted  here 
to  accept  any  partnership  in  the  impertinence  ?" 

"We  expected  you  at  two  or  three  o'clock," 
said  Nina. 

"And  shall  I  tell  you  why  I  was  not  here  be- 
fore ?  Perhaps  you'll  scarcely  credit  me  when  I 
say  I  have  been  five  hours  on  the  road." 

"Five  hours!     How  did  you  manage  that?" 

"In  this  way.  I  started  a  few  minutes  after 
twelve  from  the  inn — I  on  foot,  the  car  to  over- 
take me."  And  he  went  on  to  give  a  narrative 
of  his  wanderings  over  the  bog,  imitating,  as  well 
as  he  could,  the  driver's  conversations  with  him, 
and  the  reproaches  he  vented  on  his  inattention 
to  the  road.  Kate  enjoyed  the  story  with  all  the 
humoristic  fun  of  one  who  knew  thoroughly  how 
the  peasant  had  been  playing  with  the  gentleman, 
just  for  the  indulgence  of  that  strange  sarcastic 
temper  that  underlies  the  Irish  nature ;  and  she 
could  fancy  how  much  more  droll  it  would  have 
been  to  have  heard  the  narrative  as  told  by  the 
driver  of  the  car. 

"  And  don't  you  like  his  song,  Mr.  Walpole?" 

"What,  '  The  Wearing  of  the  Green  ?'  It  was 
the  dreariest  dirge  I  ever  listened  to." 

"Come,  you  shall  not  say  so.  When  we  go 
into  the  drawing-room  Nina  shall  sing  it  for  you, 
and  I'll  wager  you  recant  your  opinion." 

"And  do  you  sing  rebel  canticles,  Mademoi- 
selle Kostalergi  ?" 

"  Yes ;  I  do  all  my  cousin  bids  me.  I  wear  a 
red  cloak.     How  is  it  called  ?" 

"Connemara." 

Nina  nodded.  "That's  the  name,  but  I'm  not 
going  to  say  it ;  and  when  we  go  abroad — that 
is,  on  the  bog  there,  for  a  walk — we  dress  in  green 
petticoats  and  wear  very  thick  shoes." 

"And,  in  a  word,  are  very  generally  barbarous." 

"  Well,  if  you  be  really  barbarians,"  said  Wal- 
pole, filling  his  glass,  "  I  wonder  what  I  would 
not  give  to  be  allowed  to  join  the  tribe." 


"  Oh,  you'd  want  to  be  a  sachem,  or  a  chief, 
or  a  mystery-man  at  least ;  and  we  couldn't  per- 
mit that,"  cried  Kate. 

"No;  I  crave  admission  as  the  humblest  of 
your  followers." 

"  Shall  we  put  him  to  the  test,  Nina  ?" 

"  How  do  you  mean?"  cried  the  other. 

"  Make  him  take  a  Ribbon  oath,  or  the  pledge 
of  a  United  Irishman.  I've  copies  of  both  in 
papa's  study." 

"I  should  like  to  see  these  immensely,"  said 
Walpole. 

"I'll  see  if  I  can't  find  them,"  cried  Kate, 
rising  and  hastening  away. 

For  some  seconds  after  she  left  the  room  there 
was  perfect  silence.  Walpole  tried  to  catch 
Nina's  eye  before  he  spoke,  but  she  continued 
steadily  to  look  down,  and  did  not  once  raise  her 
lids.  "  Is  she  not  very  nice — is  she  not  very 
beautiful  ?"  asked  she,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  It  is  of  you  I  want  to  speak."  And  he  drew 
his  chair  closer  to  her,  and  tried  to  take  her 
hand,  but  she  withdrew  it  quickly,  and  moved 
slightly  away. 

"If  you  knew  the  delight  it  is  to  me  to  see 
you  again,  Nina — well.  Mademoiselle  Kostalergi. 
Must  it  be  mademoiselle  ?" 

"I  don't  remember  it  was  ever  'Nina,' "said 
she,  coldly. 

' '  Perhaps  only  in  my  thoughts.  To  my  heart, 
I  can  swear,  you  were  Nina.  But  tell  me  how 
you  came  here,  and  when,  and  for  how  long,  for 
I  want  to  know  all.  Speak  to  me,  I  beseech  you. 
She'll  be  back  in  a  moment,  and  when  shall  I 
have  another  instant  alone  with  you  like  this  ? 
Tell  me  how  you  came  among  them ;  and  are  they 
really  all  rebels  ?" 

Kate  entered  at  the  instant,  saying,  "I  can't 
find  it,  but  I'll  have  a  good  search  to-morrow,  for 
I  know  it's  there." 

"  Do,  by  all  means,  Kate,  for  Mr.  Walpole  is 
very  anxious  to  learn  if  he  be  admitted  legiti- 
mately into  this  brotherhood — whatever  it  be; 
he  has  just  asked  me  if  we  were  really  all  rebels 
here." 

"  I  trust  he  does  not  suppose  I  would  deceive 
him,"  said  Kate,  gravely.  "  And  when  he  hears 
you  sing  '  The  blackened  hearth — the  fallen  roof,' 
he'll  not  question  you,  Nina. — Do  you  know  that 
song,  Mr.  Walpole  ?" 

He  smiled  as  he  said  "  No." 

' '  Won't  it  be  so  nice, "  said  she,  ' '  to  catch  a 
fresh  ingenuous  Saxon  wandering  innocently  over 
the  Bog  of  Allen,  and  send  him  back  to  his 
friends  a  Fenian!" 

"Make  me  what  you  please,  but  don't  send 
me  away. " 

"Tell  me,  really,  what  would  you  do  if  we 
made  you  take  the  oath  ?" 

' '  Betray  you,  of  course,  the  moment  I  got  up 
to  Dublin." 

Nina's  eyes  flashed  angrily,  as  though  such 
jesting  was  an  offense. 

"  No,  no ;  the  shame  of  such  treason  would  be 
intolerable ;  but  you'd  go  your  way,  and  behave- 
as  though  you  never  saw  us." 

"  Oh,  he  could  do  that  without  the  inducement 
of  a  perjury,"  said  Nina,  in  Italian ;  and  then 
added  aloud,  "Let's  go  and  make  some  music. 
Mr.  Walpole  sings  charmingly,  Kate,  and  is  very 
obliging  about  it — at  least  he  used  to  be." 

"I  am  all  that  I  used  to  be — toward  that,"' 


LORD  K1LUOBB1X. 


88 


whispered  he,  as  Bhe  passed  him  to  take  Kate's 
arm  and  walk  away. 

•■  Von  don't  seem  to  have  a  thick  neighborhood 
about  ymi,"  .-aid  Walpole.  *'  Baveyou  an]  peo- 
ple living  near?'' 

•■  Yes  we  hare  a  dear  old   friend— a   Miss 


and,  I'm  afraid  to  Bay,  never  beta  a  badger  drawn 
in  her  life." 

'•And  have  you?"  asked  he,  almost  with  hor- 
ror in  his  tone. 

"  I'll    show  you    throe  regular    littk-   tuni-|ii 
dogs  to-morrow  that  will  answer  that  question. " 


O'Shea,  a  maiden  lady,  who  lives  a  few  miles  off. 
By-the-way,  there's  something  to  show  you — an 
old  maid  who  hunts  her  own  harriers." 

•■  What !   are  you  in  earnest  ?" 

"On  my  word  it  is  true!  Nina  can't  endore 
ber;  but  Nina  doesn't  care  for  hare-banting, 
C 


"  How  I  wish  Lock  wood  had  come  out  here 
with  me,''  said  Walpole,  almost  uttering  a 
thought 

'•  That  is,  you  wish  he  had  scon  a  bit  of  bar- 
barons  [reland  he'd  scarcely  credit  from  mere  de- 
scription.    Bat  perhaps  I'd  have  been  better  be- 


M 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


haved  before  him.  I'm  treating  you  with  all  the 
freedom  of  an  old  friend  of  my  cousin's." 

Nina  had  meanwhile  opened  the  piano,  and 
was  letting  her  hands  stray  over  the  instrument 
in  occasional  chords  ;  and  then,  in  a  low  voice, 
that  barely  blended  its  tones  with  the  accompani- 
ment, she  sang  one  of  those  little  popular  songs 
of  Italy,  called  "  Stornelli" — wild,  fanciful  melo- 
dies, with  that  blended  gayety  and  sadness  which 
the  songs  of  a  people  are  so  often  marked  by. 

"  That  is  a  very  old  favorite  of  mine,"  said 
Walpole,  approaching  the  piano  as  noiselessly  as 
Though  he  feared  to  disturb  the  singer  ;  and  now 
lie  stole  into  a  chair  at  her  side.  "  How  that 
song  makes  me  wish  we  were  back  again  where 
I  heard  it  first,"  whispered  he,  gently. 

"  I  forget  where  that  was,"  said  she,  carelessly. 

"  No,  Nina,  you  do  not,"  said  he,  eagerly ;  "  it 
was  at  Albano,  the  day  we  all  went  to  l'allavi- 
cini's  villa." 

"And  I  sung  a  little  French  song,  '  Si  vous 
navez  rien  a  me  dire,'  which  you  were  vain  enough 
to  imagine  was  a  question  addressed  to  yourself; 
and  you  made  me  a  sort  of  declaration  ,  do  you 
remember  all  that  ?" 

"  Every  word  of  it." 

"  Why  don't  you  go  and  speak  to  my  cousin  ? 
she  has  opened  the  window  and  gone  out  upon 
the  terrace,  and  I  trust  you  understand  that  she 
expects  you  to  follow  her."  There  was  a  studied 
calm  in  the  way  she  spoke  that  showed  she  was 
exerting  considerable  self-control. 

"No,  no,  Nina,  it  is  with  you  I  desire  to  speak  ; 
to  see  you,  that  I  have  come  here. " 

"And  so  you  do  remember  that  you  made  me 
a  declaration.  It  made  me  laugh  afterward  as 
I  thought  it  over." 

"  Made  you  laugh  ?" 

"Yes,  I  laughed  to  myself  at  the  ingenious 
way  in  which  you  conveyed  to  me  what  an  im- 
prudence it  was  in  you  to  fall  in  love  with  a  girl 
who  had  no  fortune,  and  the  shock  it  would  give 
your  friends  when  they  should  hear  she  was  a 
Greek. " 

"  How  can  you  say  such  painful  things,  Nina  ? 
how  can  you  be  so  pitiless  as  this  ?" 

"It  was  you  who  had  no  pity,  Sir;  I  felt  a 
deal  of  pity ;  I  will  not  deny  it  was  for  myself. 
I  don't  pretend  to  say  that  I  could  give  a  correct 
version  of  the  way  in  which  you  conveyed  to  me 
the  pain  it  gave  you  that  I  was  not  a  princess,  a 
Borromeo,  or  a  Colonno,  or  an  Altieri.  That 
Greek  adventurer,  yes — you  can  not  deny  it — I 
overheard  these  words  myself.  You  were  talking 
to  an  English  girl,  a  tall,  rather  handsome  person 
she  was — I  shall  remember  her  name  in  a  mo- 
ment if  you  can  not  help  me  to  it  sooner — a  Lady 
Biekerstaffe — " 

"  Yes,  there  was  a  Lady  Maude  Biekerstaffe ; 
she  merely  passed  through  Rome  for  Naples." 

"  You  called  her  a  cousin,  I  remember." 

"  There  is  some  cousinship  between  us ;  I  for- 
get exactly  in  what  degree." 

"  Do  try  and  remember  a  little  more ;  remem- 
ber that  you  forgot  you  had  engaged  me  for  the 
cotillon,  and  drove  away  with  that  blonde  beauty 
— and  she  was  a  beauty,  or  had  been  a  few  years 
before — at  all  events  you  lost  all  memory  of  the 
daughter  of  the  adventurer." 

"  You  will  drive  me  distracted,  Nina,  if  you 
say  such  things." 

"1  know  it  is  wrong  and  it  is  cruel,  and  it  is 


worse  than  wrong  and  cruel — it  is  what  you  En- 
glish call  under-bred,  to  be  so  individually  disa- 
greeable ;  but  this  grievance  of  mine  has  been 
weighing  very  heavily  on  my  heart,  and  I  have 
been  longing  to  tell  you  so." 

"  Why  are  you  not  singing,  Nina  ?"  cried  Kate, 
from  the  terrace.  "  You  told  me  of  a  duet,  and 
I  think  you  are  bent  on  having  it  without  music." 

"Yes,  we  are  quarreling  fiercely, "  said  Nina. 
"This  gentleman  has  been  rash  enough  to  re- 
mind me  of  an  unsettled  score  between  us,  and 
as  he  is  the  defaulter — " 

"I  dispute  the  debt." 

"Shall  I  be  the  judge  between  you?"  asked 
Kate. 

"On  no  account ;  my  claim  once  disputed,  I 
surrender  it,"  said  Nina. 

"I  must  say  you  are  very  charming  company. 
You  won't  sing,  and  you'll  only  talk  to  say  disa- 
greeable things.  Shall  I  make  tea,  and  see  if  it 
will  render  you  more  amiable  ?" 

"  Do  so,  dearest,  and  then  show  Mr.  Walpole 
the  house;  he  has  forgotten  what  brought  him 
here,  I  really  believe." 

"You  know  that  I  have  not,"  muttered  he,  in 
a  tone  of  deep  meaning. 

"  There's  no  light  now  to  show  him  the  house ; 
Mr.  Walpole  must  come  to-morrow,  when  papa 
will  be  at  home  and  delighted  to  see  him." 

"May  I  really  do  this?" 

"  Perhaps,  besides,  your  friend  will  have  found 
the  little  inn  so  insupportable  that  he  too  will 
join  us.  Listen  to  that  sigh  of  poor  Nina's,  and 
you'll  understand  what  it  is  to  be  dreary !" 

"  No ;  I  want  my  tea." 

"  And  it  shall  have  it,"  said  Kate,  kissing  her 
with  a  petting  affectation,  as  she  left  the  room. 

"  Now  one  word,  only  one,"  said  Walpole,  as 
he  drew  his  chair  close  to  her.  "If  I  swear  to 
you — " 

"What's  that?  Who  is  Kate  angry  with?" 
cried  Nina,  rising  and  rushing  toward  the  door. 
"What  has  happened?" 

"I'll  tell  you  what  has  happened," said  Kate, 
as  with  flashing  eyes  and  heightened  color  she 
entered  the  room.  "  The  large  gate  of  the  outer 
yard,  that  is  every  night  locked  and  strongly 
barred  at  sunset,  has  been  left  open,  and  they  tell 
me  that  three  men  have  come  in,  Sally  says  five, 
and  are  hiding  in  some  of  the  out-houses." 

"What  for  ?  Is  it  to  rob,  think  you  ?"  asked 
Walpole. 

"It  is  certainly  for  nothing  good.  They  all 
know  that  papa  is  away,  and  the  house  so  far  un- 
protected," continued  Kate,  calmly.  "We  must 
find  out  to-morrow  who  has  left  the  gate  unbolt- 
ed. This  was  no  accident ;  and  now  that  they 
are  setting  fire  to  the  ricks  all  around  us,  it  is  no' 
time  for  carelessness." 

"  Shall  we  search  the  offices  and  the  out-build- 
ings?" asked  Walpole. 

"  Of  course  not ;  we  must  stand  by  the  house 
and  take  care  that  they  do  not  enter  it.  It's  a 
strong  old  place,  and  even  if  they  forced  an  en- 
trance below  they  couldn't  set  fire  to  it." 

"  Could  they  force  their  way  up  ?"  asked  Wal- 
pole. 

"Not  if  the  people  above  have  any  courage. 
Just  come  and  look  at  the  stair :  it  was  made  in 
times  when  people  thought  of  defending  them- 
selves." They  issued  forth  now  together  to  the 
top  of  the  landing,  where  a  narrow,  steep  flight 


LORD  KIU.OHBIN. 


of  stone  steps  descended  between  two  walla  to 
the  basemenl  story.  A  little  more  than  half-way 
down  was  a  low  iron  gate  or  grille  of  considerable 
strength;  thongb, not  being  above  tour  feel  in 
height,  il  could  have  been  no  great  defense,  which 
seemed,  after  all.  to  have  been  its  intention. 
"When  this  is  dosed,"  said  Kate,  shutting  it 
with  a  hang,  "  it's  not  such  easy  work  to  pass  up 
against  two  or  three  resolute  people  at  the  tup; 
and  see  here,"  added  she.  showing  a  deep  niche 
or  alcove  in  the  wall,  "  this  was  evidently  meant 
for  the  sentry  who  watched  the  wicket ;  lie  could 
stand  here  out  of  the  reach  of  all  tire." 

••  Would  you  not  say  she  was  longing  for  a 
conflict?"  said  Nina,  gazing  at  her. 

••No;   hut  it' it  conies  I'll  not  decline  it." 

"Yon  mean  you'll  defend  the  stair?"  asked 
Walpole. 

She  Dodded  assent. 

"What  anus  have  you?" 

"Plenty;  come  and  look  at  them.  Here," 
said  she,  entering  the  dining-room,  and  pointing 
to  a  huge  oak  sideboard  covered  with  weapons 
— "here  is  probably  what  has  led  these  people 
here.  They  are  going  through  the  country  lat- 
terly on  every  Bide,  in  search  of  arms.  I  believe 
iiiis  is  almost  the  only  house  where  they  have 
not  called." 

"  And  do  they  go  away  quietly  when  their  de- 
mands are  complied  with  ?" 

"  Ves ;  when  they  chance  upon  people  of  poor 
courage  they  leave  them  with  life  enough  to  tell 
the  story. — What  is  it,  Mathew?"  asked  she  of 
the  old  serving-man  who  entered  the  room. 

"It's  the  ;  boys,"  miss,  and  they  want  to  talk 
to  you,  if  you'll  step  out  on  the  terrace.  They 
don't  mean  any  harm  at  all." 

••What  do  they  want,  then?" 

"Just  a  spare  gun  or  two.  miss,  or  an  ould  pis- 
tol, or  any  thing  of  the  kind  that  was  no  use  " 

"  Was  it  not  brave  of  them  to  come  here,  when 
my  father  was  from  home?  Aren't  they  fine 
courageous  creatures  to  come  and  frighten  two 
lone  girls — eh,  Mat  ?'' 

"  Don't  anger  them,  miss,  for  the  love  of  Jo- 
seph! don't  say  any  thing  hard,  let  me  hand 
them  that  ould  carbine  there,  and  the  fowling- 
piece  ;  and  if  you'd  give  them  a  pair  of  horse- 
pistols  I'm  sure  they'd  go  away  epiiet." 

A  loud  noise  of  knocking,  as  though  with  a 
stone,  at  the  outer  door  broke  in  upon  the  col- 
loquy, and  Kate  passed  into  the  drawing-room, 
and  opened  the  window,  out  upon  the  stone  ter- 
race which  overlooked  the  yard.  "Who  is  there? 
— who  are  you  ? — what  do  you  want  ?"  cried  she, 
peering  down  into  the  darkness,  which,  in  the 
shadow  of  the  house,  was  deeper. 

"  We've  come  for  arms,"  cried  a  deep,  hoarse 
voice. 

"My  father  is  away  from  home;  come  and 
ask  for  them  when  he's  here  to  answer  you." 

A  wild,  insolent  laugh  from  below  acknowl- 
edged what  they  thought  of  this  speech. 

'".Maybe  that  was  the  rayson  we  came  now, 
miss,"  said  a  voice  in  a  lighter  tone. 

"Fine  courageous  fellows  you  are  to  say  so! 
I  ho|>e  Ireland  has  more  of  such  brave,  patriotic 
men." 

"You'd  better  leave  that,  anyhow,"  said  an- 
other; and  as  he  spoke  he  leveled  and  fired,  but 
evidently  with  intention  to  terrify  rather  than  | 
wound,  for  the  plaster  came  tumbling  down  from  I 


several  feet  above  her  head  ;   and  now  the  knock- 
ing at  the  door  was  redoubled,  and  with  a  noise 
that  resounded  through  the  house. 
"  Wouldn't  you  advise  her  to  give  np  the  arms 

and  let   them  go?"  said   Nina,  in   a  whisper  to 

Walpole:  hut  though  she  was  deadly  pale  there 
was  no  tremor  in  her  voice. 

"The  door  is  giving  way,  the  wood  is  com- 
pletely rotten.  Now  for  the  stairs.  .Mr.  Wal- 
pole. you're  going  to  stand  by  me?" 

"I  should  think  so,  but  I'd  rather  you'd  re- 
main here.      I  know  my  ground  now." 

"No,  I  must  be  beside  you.  You'll  have  to 
keep  a  rolling  fire,  and  1  can  load  quicker  than 
most  people.  Come  along  now  ;  v>  e  must  take  no 
light  with  us — follow  me." 

"Take  care,"  said  Nina  to  Walpole,  as  he 
passed,  but  with  an  accent  so  full  of  a  strange 
significance  it  dwelt  on  his  memory  long  after. 

"  What  was  it  Nina  whispered  you,  as  you 
came  by  ?"  said  Kate. 

"Something  about  being  cautious,  I  think," 
said  he,  carelessly. 

"Stay  where  you  are,  Mathew, "said  the  girl, 
in  a  severe  tone  to  the  old  servant,  who  was  of- 
ficiously pressing  forward  with  a  light. 

"Go  back!"  cried  she,  as  he  persisted  in  fol- 
lowing her. 

"That's  the  worst  of  all  our  troubles  here,  Mr. 
Walpole," said  she,  boldly  :  "you  can  not  depend 
on  the  people  of  your  own  household.  The  very 
people  you  have  nursed  in  sickness,  if  they  only 
belong  to  some  secret  association,  will  betray 
you!"  She  made  no  secret  of  her  words,  but 
spoke  them  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  the  group 
of  servants  now  gathered  on  the  landing.  Noise- 
less she  tripped  down  the  stairs,  and  passed  into  the 
little  dark  alcove,  followed  by  Walpole,  carrying 
any  amount  of  guns  and  carbines  under  his  arm. 

"These  are  loaded,  I  presume?"  said  he. 

"All,  and  ready  capped.  The  short  carbine 
is  charged  with  a  sort  of  canister-shot,  and  keep 
it  for  a  short  range — if  they  try  to  pass  over  the 
iron  gate.  Now  mind  me,  and  I  will  give  you 
the  directions  I  heard  my  father  give  on  this 
spot  once  before.  Don't  fire  till  they  reach  the 
foot  of  the  stair." 

"I  can  not  hear  you."  said  he,  for  the  din 
beneath,  where  they  battered  at  the  door,  was 
now  deafening. 

"They'll  be  in  in  another  moment— there,  the 
lock  has  fallen  off — the  door  has  given  way." 
whispered  she;  "be  steady,  now;  no  hurry — 
steady  and  calm." 

As  she  spoke  the  heavy  oak  door  fell  to  the 
ground,  and  a  perfect  silence  succeeded  to  the 
late  din.  After  an  instant,  muttering  whispers 
could  be  heard,  and  it  seemed  as  if  they  doubt- 
ed how  far  it  was  sale  to  enter,  lor  all  was  dark 
within.  Something  was  said  in  a  tone  of  com- 
mand, and  at  the  moment  one  of  the  party  flung 
forward  a  bundle  of  lighted  straw  and  tow,  which 
fell  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  for  a  tew  Beconds 
lit  up  the  place  with  a  red  lurid  gleam,  showing 
the  steep  stair  and  the  iron  bars  of  the  liitle  gate 
that  crossed  it. 

"  There's  the  iron  wicket  they  spoke  of,"  cried 
one.     "  All  right ;  come  on !"    And  the  speaker 

led  the  way,  cautiously,  however,  and  slowly,  the 
others  after  him. 

'•  No.  not  yet,"  whispered  Kate,  as  she  pressed 
her  hand  upon  Walpole's. 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"  I  hear  voices  up  there,"  cried  the  leader  from 
below.  "  We'll  make  them  leave  that,  anyhow." 
And  he  fired  off  his  gun  in  the  direction  of  the 
upper  part  of  the  stair  :  a  quantity  of  plaster  came 
clattering  down  as  the  ball  struck  the  ceiling. 

"  Now,"  said  she.     "  Now,  and  fire  low !" 

He  discharged  both  barrels  so  rapidly  that  the 
two  detonations  blended  into  one,  and  the  assail- 
ants replied  by  a  volley,  the  echoing  din  almost 
sounding  like  artillery.  Fast  as  Walpole  could 
fire,  the  girl  replaced  the  piece  by  another ;  when 
suddenly  she  cried,  "  There  is  a  fellow  at  the  gate 
— the  carbine — the  carbine  now,  and  steady." 
A  heavy  crash  and  a  cry  followed  his  discharge, 
and  snatching  the  weapon  from  him,  she  reload- 
ed and  handed  it  back  with  lightning  speed. 
"There  is  another  there,"  whispered  she';  and 
Walpole  moved  further  out,  to  take  a  steadier 
aim.  All  was  still :  not  a  sound  to  be  heard  for 
some  seconds,  when  the  hinges  of  the  gate  creaked 
and  the  bolt  shook  in  the  lock.  Walpole  fired 
again,  but  as  he  did  so,  the  others  poured  in  a 
rattling  volley,  one  shot  grazing  his  cheek,  and 
another  smashing  both  bones  of  his  right  arm, 
so  that  the  carbine  fell  powerless  from  his  hand. 
The  intrepid  girl  sprang  to  his  side  at  once,  and 
then  passing  in  front  of  him,  she  fired  some  shots 
from  a  revolver  in  quick  succession.  A  low,  con- 
fused sound  of  feet,  and  a  scuffling  noise  followed, 
when  a  rough,  hoarse  voice  cried  out,  "Stop  fir- 
ing ;   we  are  wounded,  and  going  away." 

"Are  you  badly  hurt?"  whispered  Kate  to 
Walpole. 

"  Nothing  serious  ;  be  still  and  listen  !" 

"  There,  the  carbine  is  ready  again.  Oh,  you 
can  not  hold  it — leave  it  to  me,"  said  she. 

From  the  difficulty  of  removal,  it  seemed  as 
though  one  of  the  party  beneath  was  either  killed 
or  badly  wounded,  for  it  was  several  minutes  be- 
fore they  could  gain  the  outer  door. 

"Are  they  really  retiring?"  whispered  Wal- 
pole. 

"  Yes;  they  seem  to  have  suffered  heavily." 

"Would  you  not  give  them  one  shot  at  part- 
ing— that  carbine  is  charged?"  asked  he,  anx- 
iously. 

"  Not  for  worlds," said  she ;  "  savage  as  they 
are,  it  would  be  rain  to  break  faith  with  them." 

"  Give  me  a  pistol,  my  left  hand  is  all  right." 
Though  he  tried  to  speak  with  calmness,  the 
agony  of  pain  he  was  suffering  so  overcame  him 
that  he  leaned  his  head  down,  and  rested  it  on 
her  shoulder. 

"My  poor,  poor  fellow!"  said  she,  tenderly; 
"  I  would  not  for  the  world  that  this  had  hap- 
pened." 

"They're  gone,  Miss  Kate;  they've  passed  out 
at  the  big  gate,  and  they're  off,"  whispered  old 
Mathew,  as  he  stood  trembling  behind  her. 

"Here,  call  some  one,  and  help  this  gentle- 
man up  the  stairs,  and  get  a  mattress  down  on  the 
floor  at  once;  send  off  a  messenger,  Sally,  for 
Doctor  Tobin.  He  can  take  the  car  that  came 
this  evening,  and  let  him  make  what  haste  he 
can." 

"  Is  he  wounded  ?"  said  Nina,  as  they  laid  him 
down  on  the  floor.  Walpole  tried  to  smile  and 
say  something,  but  no  sound  came  forth. 

"  My  own  dear,  dear  Cecil,"  whispered  Nina, 
as  she  knelt  and  kissed  his  hand ;  "  tell  me  it  is 
not  dangerous."     But  he  had  fainted. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


"WHAT   THE    PAPERS    SAID    OF   IT. 

The  wounded  man  had  just  fallen  into  a  first 
sleep  after  his  disaster,  when  the  press  of  the  cap- 
ital was  already  proclaiming  throughout  the  land 
the  attack  and  search  for  arms  at  Kilgobbin  Cas- 
tle. In  the  national  papers  a  very  few  lines  were 
devoted  to  the  event ;  indeed,  their  tone  was  one 
of  party  sneer  at  the  importance  given  by  their 
contemporaries  to  a  very  ordinary  incident.  ' '  Is 
there,"  asked  the  Convicted  Felon,  "any  tiling 
very  strange  or  new  in  the  fact  that  Irishmen 
have  determined  to  be  armed  ?  Is  English  legis- 
lation in  this  country  so  marked  by  justice,  clem- 
ency, and  generosity  that  the  people  of  Ireland 
prefer  to  submit  their  lives  and  fortunes  to  its 
sway  to  trusting  what  brave  men  alone  trust  in 
— their  fearlessness  and  their  daring?  What  is 
there,  then,  so  remarkable  in  the  repairing  to  Mr. 
Kearney's  house  for  a  loan  of  those  weapons  of 
which  his  family  for  several  generations  have  for- 
gotten the  use  ?"  In  the  government  journals  the 
story  of  the  attack  was  headed,  "Attack  on  Kil- 
gobbin Castle.  Heroic  Resistance  by  a  Young 
Lady:"  in  which  Kate  Kearney's  conduct  was 
described  in  colors  of  extravagant  eulogy.  She 
was  alternately  Joan  of  Arc  and  the  Maid  of 
Saragossa,  and  it  was  gravely  discussed  whether 
any  and  what  honors  of  the  Crown  were  at  her 
Majesty's  disposal  to  reward  such  brilliant  hero- 
ism. In  another  print  of  the  same  stamp  the  nar- 
rative began:  "The  disastrous  condition  of  our 
country  is  never  displayed  in  darker  colors  than 
when  the  totally  unprovoked  character  of  some 
outrage  lias  to  be  recorded  by  the  press.  It  is 
our  melancholy  task  to  present  such  a  case  as  this 
to  our  readers  to-day.  If  it  was  our  wish  to  ex- 
hibit to  a  stranger  the  picture  of  an  Irish  estate 
in  which  all  the  blessings  of  good  management, 
intelligence,  kindliness,  and  Christian  charity 
were  displayed — to  show  him  a  property  where 
the  well-being  of  landlord  and  tenant  were  inex- 
tricably united,  where  the  condition  of  the  peo- 
ple, their  dress,  their  homes,  their  food,  and  their 
daily  comforts  could  stand  comparison  with  the 
most  favored  English  county — we  should  point  to 
the  Kearney  estate  of  Kilgobbin ;  and  yet  it  is 
here,  in  the  very  house  where  his  ancestors  have 
resided  for  generations,  that  a  most  savage  and 
dastardly  attack  is  made  :  and  if  we  feel  a  sense 
of  shame  in  recording  the  outrage,  we  are  recom- 
pensed by  the  proud  elation  with  which  we  can  re- 
count the  repulse — the  noble  and  gallant  achieve- 
ment of  an  Irish  girl.  History  has  the  record  of 
more  momentous  feats,  but  we  doubt  that  there 
is  one  in  the  annals  of  any  land  in  which  a  higher 
heroism  was  displayed  than  in  this  splendid  de- 
fense by  Miss  Kearney."  Then  followed  the 
story ;  not  one  of  the  papers  having  any  knowl- 
edge of  Walpole's  presence  on  the  occasion,  or 
the  slightest  suspicion  that  she  was  aided  in  any 
way. 

Joe  Atlee  was  busily  engaged  in  conning  over 
and  comparing  these  somewhat  contradictory  re- 
ports as  he  sat  at  his  breakfast,  his  chum,  Kearney, 
being  still  in  bed  and  asleep,  after  a  late  night  at 
a  ball.  At  last  there  came  a  telegraphic  dispatch 
for  Kearney  ;  armed  with  which,  Joe  entered  the 
bedroom  and  woke  him. 

"  Here's  something  for  you,  Dick,"  cried  he. 
"  Are  you  too  sleepy  to  read  it  ?" 


L0K1)  KILGOBBIN. 


"Tear  it  open  and  Bee  what  it  is,  like  a  ( '1 

fellow, "said  the  other,  indolently. 
"It's  from  your  sister — at  least  it  is  signed 

Kate.  It  says':  'There  is  no  cause  for  alarm. 
All  is  going  on  well,  and  papa  "ill  be  back  this 
evening,     1  write  by  this  post.'" 

"What  does  all  that  mean?"  cried  Dick,  in 
surprise. 

"The  whole  story  is  in  the  papers.  The  boys 
have  taken  the  opportunity  of  your  father's  ab- 
sence from  home  to  make  a  demand  for  arms  at 
your  house,  and  your  sister,  it  seems,  showed  fight 
and  beat  them  off  They  talk  of  two  fellows  be- 
ing seen  badly  wounded,  but,  of  course,  that  part 
of  the  story  can  not  be  relied  on.  That  they  got 
enough  to  make  them  beat  a  retreat  is,  however, 
certain  ;  and  as  they  were  what  is  called  a  strong 
party,  the  feat  of  resisting  them  is  no  small  glory 
for  a  young  lady." 

"  It  was  just  what  Kate  was  certain  to  do. 
There's  no  man  with  a  braver  heart." 

''  I  wonder  how  the  beautiful  Greek  behaved  ? 
I  should  like  greatly  to  hear  what  part  she  took 
in  the  defense  of  the  citadel.  Was  she  fainting, 
or  in  hysterics,  or  so  overcome  by  terror  as  to  be 
unconscious  ?" 

"  I'll  give  you  any  wager  you  like  Kate  did 
the  whole  thing  herself.  There  was  a  Whitehoy 
attack  to  force  the  stairs  when  she  was  a  child, 
and  I  suppose  we  rehearsed  that  combat  fully 
fifty — ay,  live  hundred  times.  Kate  always  took 
the  defense,  and  though  we  were  sometimes  four 
to  one,  she  kept  us  back." 

"  By  Jove  !  I  think  I  should  be  afraid  of  such 
a  young  lady." 

"  So  you  would.  She  has  more  pluck  in  her 
heart  than  half  that  blessed  province  you  come 
from.  That's  the  blood  of  the  old  stock  you  are 
often  pleased  to  sneer  at,  and  of  which  the  pres- 
ent will  be  a  lesson  to  teach  you  better." 

' '  May  not  the  lovely  Greek  be  descended  from 
some  ancient  stock,  too  ?  Who  is  to  say  what 
blood  of  l'ericles  she  has  not  in  her  veins?  I 
i ell  you  I'll  not  give  up  the  notion  that  she  was  a 
sharer  in  this  glory." 

"If  you've  got  the  papers  with  the  account, 
let  me  see  them,  Joe.  I've  half  a  mind  to  run 
down  by  the  night  mail — that  is,  if  I  can.  Have 
you  got  any  tin,  Atlee?" 

"There  were  some  shillings  in  one  of  my  pock- 
ets last  night.     How  much  do  you  want  ?" 

•'  Kighteen-and-six  first  class,  and  a  few  shil- 
lings for  a  cab." 

"  I  can  manege  that ;  but  I'll  go  and  fetch  you 
the  papers ;  there's  time  enough  to  talk  of  the 
journey." 

The  newsman  had  just  deposited  the  Croppy 
on  the  table  as  Joe  returned  to  the  breakfast- 
table,  and  the  story  of  Kilgobbin  headed  the  first 
column  in  large  capitals.  "  While  our  contempo- 
raries," it  began,  "  are  recounting  with  more  than 
their  wonted  eloquence  the  injuries  inflicted  on 
three  poor  laboring  men,  who,  in  their  igno- 
rance of  the  locality,  had  the  temerity  to  ask  for 
alma  at  Kilgobbin  Castle  yesterday  evening,  and 
were  ignominiously  driven  away  from  the  door 
by  a  young  lady  whose  benevolence  was  admin- 
istered through  a  blunderbuss,  we,  who  form  no 
portion  of  the  polite  press,  and  have  no  preten- 
sion to  mix  in  what  are  euphuistirally  called  the 
'best  circles'  of  this  capital,  would  like  to  ask, 
for  the  information   of  tho-e   humble   classes 


among  which  our  readers  are  found,  is  it  the 
Custom  for  young  ladies  to  await  the  absence  of 

their  fathers  to  entertain  young  gentlemen  tour- 
ists? and  is  a  reputation  for  even  heroic  courage 
not    somewhat  dearly   purchased  at  the   price  of 

the  companionship  of  the  admittedly  mosl  profli- 
gate man  of  a  vicious  anil  corrupt  society  ?  The 
heroine  who  defended  Kilgobbin  can  reply  to  our 
query. " 

Joe  Atlee  read  this  paragraph  three  times  over 
before  he  carried  in  the  paper  tO  Kcarnev. 

"  Here's  an  insolent  paragraph,  I  tick,"  he  cried, 
as  he  threw  the  paper  to  him  on  the  bed.  "Of 
course  it's  a  thing  can  not  be  noticed  in  any  way, 
but  it's  not  the  less  rascally  for  that." 

"You  know  the  fellow  who  edits  this  paper, 
Joe?"' said  Kearney,  trembling  with  passion. 

"  No  ;  my  friend  is  doing  his  hit  of  oakum  at 
Kilmainham.  They  gave  him  thirteen  months, 
and  a  fine  that  he'll  never  be  able  to  pay ;  but 
what  would  you  do  if  the  fellow  who  wrote  it  were 
in  the  next  room  this  moment?" 

"Thrash  him  within  an  inch  of  his  life." 

"  And,  with  the  inch  of  life  left  him,  he'd  get 
strong  again,  and  write  at  you  and  all  belonging 
to  you  every  day  of  his  existence.  Don't  you 
see  that  all  this  license  is  one  of  the  prices  of 
liberty?  There's  no  guarding  against  excesses 
when  you  establish  a  rivalry.  The  doctors  could 
tell  you  how  many  diseased  lungs  and  aneurisms 
are  made  by  training  for  a  rowing-match." 

"I'll  go  down  by  the  mail  to-night  and  see 
what  has  given  the  origin  to  this  scandalous 
falsehood." 

"  There's  no  harm  in  doing  that,  especially  if 
you  take  me  with  you." 

"  Why  should  I  take  you,  or  for  what  ?" 

"As  guide,  counselor,  and  friend.'' 

"Bright  thought,  when  all  the  money  we  can 
muster  between  us  is  only  enough  for  one  tare." 

"  Doubtless,  first  class ;  but  we  could  go  third 
class,  two  of  us,  for  the  same  money.  Do  you 
imagine  that  Damon  and  Pythias  would  have 
been  separated  if  it  came  even  to  traveling  in  a 
cow  compartment  ?" 

"I  wish  you  could  see  that  there  are  circum- 
stances in  life  where  the  comic  man  is  out  of 
place." 

"I  trust  I  shall  never  discover  them  ;  at  least 
so  long  as  fate  treats  me  with  '  heavy  tragedy.'" 

"I'm  not  exactly  sure,  either,  whether  they'd 
like  to  receive  you  just  now  at  Kilgobbin." 

"  Inhospitable  thought !  My  heart  assures  me 
of  a  most  cordial  welcome." 

"  And  I  should  only  stay  a  day  or  two  at  far- 
thest." 

"  Which  would  suit  me  to  perfection.  I  must 
be  back  here  by  Tuesday  if  I  had  to  walk  the  dis- 
tance." 

'•  Not  at  all  improbable,  so  far  as  I  know  of  your 

resources." 

"What  a  churlish  dog  it  is!  Now  had  you, 
Master  Dick,  proposed  to  me  that  we  should  go 

down  and  pass  a  week  at  a  certain  small  thatched 
cottage  on  the  batiks  of  the  Ban,  where  a  Pres- 
byterian minister  with  eight  olive-branches  vege- 
tal.^. di8CUSSing  tough  mutton  and  tougher  the- 
ology on  Sundays,  and   getting  through  the  rest 

of  the  week  with  the  parables  ami  potatoes,  I'd 

have  -aid.  Done  !" 

"  It  was  the  inopportune  time  I  was  thinking 
of.      Who  knows  what  contusion  this  event  may 


LORD  KILGOBBIX. 


not  have  thrown  them  into?  If  you  like  to  risk 
the  (Jit-comfort,  I  make  no  objection." 

• '  To  so  heartily  expressed  an  invitation  there 
can  be  but  one  answer,  I  yield." 

"  2s  ow  look  here,  Joe.  I'd  better  be  frank  with 
you  :  don't  try  it  on  at  Kilgobbin  as  you  do  with 
me. " 

''Yon  are  afraid  of  my  insinuating  maimers, 
are  you  ?" 

' 'I  am  afraid  of  your  confounded  impudence, 
and  of  that  notion  you  can  not  get  rid  of,  that 
your  cool  familiarity  is  a  fashionable  tone." 

' '  How  men  mistake  themselves !  I  pledge  you 
my  word,  if  I  was  asked  what  was  the  great  blem- 
ish  in  my  manner,  I'd  have  said  it  was  hashful- 
ness. " 

"  Well,  then,  it  is  not!" 

"  Are  you  sure,  Dick — are  you  quite  sure  ?'' 

"  I  am  quite  sure,  and,  unfortunately  for  you, 
you'll  find  that  the  majority  agree  with  me." 

"  'A  wise  man  should  guard  himself  against 
the  defects  that  he  might  have,  without  knowing 
it.'  That  is  a  Persian  proverb,  which  you  will  find 
in  Hafiz.     I  believe  you  never  read  Hafiz  ?" 

"  Xo,  nor  you  either." 

' '  That's  true ;  but  I  can  make  my  own 
Hafiz,  and  just  as  good  as  the  real  article.  By- 
the-way,  are  you  aware  that  the  water-carriers  at 
Tehran  sing  'Lalla  Rookh,'and  believe  it  a  na- 
tional poem  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  care." 

"I'll  bring  down  an  Anacreon  with  me,  and 
see  if  the  Greek  cousin  can  spell  her  way  through 
an  ode." 

"And  I  distinctly  declare  you  shall  do  no  such 
thing." 

"  ()li  dear,  oh  dear,  what  an  unamiable  trait  is 
envy !  By-the-way,  was  that  your  frock-coat  I 
wore  yesterday  at  the  races?" 

"I  think  you  know  it  was;  at  least  you  re- 
membered it  when  you  tore  the  sleeve." 

"True,  most  true;  that  torn  sleeve  was  the 
reason  the  rascal  would  only  let  me  have  fifteen 
shillings  on  it." 

"And  you  mean  to  say  you  pawned  my  coat  ?" 

"  I  left  it  in  the  temporary  care  of  a  relative, 
Dick  ;  but  it  is  a  redeemable  mortgage,  and  don't 
fret  about  it." 

"Ever  the  same!" 

"No,  Dick;  that  means  worse  and  worse! 
Now  I  am  in  the  process  of  reformation.  The 
natural  selection,  however,  where  honesty  is  in 
the  series,  is  a  slow  proceeding,  and  the  organic 
changes  are  very  complicated.  As  I  know,  how- 
ever, you  attach  value  to  the  effect  you  produce  in 
that  coat,  I'll  go  and  recover  it.  I  shall  not  need 
Terence  or  Juvenal  till  we  come  back,  and  I'll 
leave  them  in  the  avuncular  hands  till  then." 

"  I  wonder  you  are  not  ashamed  of  these  mis- 
erable straits." 

"  I  am  very  much  ashamed  of  the  world  that 
imposes  them  on  me.  I'm  thoroughly  ashamed 
of  that  public  in  lacquered  leather  that  sees  me 
walking  in  broken  boots.  I'm  heartily  ashamed 
of  that  well-fed,  well-dressed,  sleek  society  that 
never  so  much  as  asked  whether  the  intellectual- 
looking  man  in  the  shabby  hat,  who  looked  so 
lovingly  at  the  spiced  beef  in  the  window,  had 
dined  yet,  or  was  he  fasting  for  a  wager  ?" 

"There,  don't  cany  away  that  newspaper; 
I  want  to  read  over  that  pleasant  paragraph 
again. " 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  JOURNEY  TO  THE  COUNTRY. 

The  two  friends  were  deposited  at  the  Moate 
station  at  a  few  minutes  after  midnight,  and  their 
available  resources  amounting  to  something  short 
of  two  shillings,  and  the  fare  of  a  car  and  horse 
to  Kilgobbin  being  more  than  three  times  that 
amount,  they  decided  to  devote  their  small  bal- 
ance to  purposes  of  refreshment,  and  then  set  out 
for  the  castle  on  foot. 

"It  is  a  fine  moonlight ;  I  know  all  the  short- 
cuts, and  I  want  a  bit  of  walking  besides,"  said 
Kearney  ;  and  though  Joe  was  of  a  self-indulgent 
temperament,  and  would  like  to  have  gone  to  bed 
after  his  supper  and  trusted  to  the  chapter  of  acci- 
dents to  reach  Kilgobbin  by  a  conveyance  some 
time,  any  time,  he  had  to  yield  his  consent  and 
set  out  on  the  road. 

"The  fellow  who  comes  with  the  letter-bag 
will  fetch  over  our  portmanteau, "  said  Dick,  as 
they  started. 

"I  wish  you'd  give  him  directions  to  take 
charge  of  me,  too,"  said  Joe,  who  felt  very  indis- 
posed to  a  long  walk. 

"  I  like  you,"  said  Dick,  sneeringly ;  "  you  are 
always  telling  me  that  you  are  the  sort  of  fellow 
for  a  new  colony,  life  in  the  bush,  and  the  rest 
of  it,  and  when  it  comes  to  a  question  of  a  few 
miles' tramp  on  a  bright  night  in  June,  you  try  to 
skulk  it  in  every  possible  way.  You're  a  great 
humbug,  Master  Joe." 

"And  you  a  very  small  humbug,  and  there  lies 
the  difference  between  us.  The  combinations  in 
your  mind  are  so  few  that,  as  in  a  game  of  only 
three  cards,  there  is  no  skill  in  the  playing  ;  while 
in  my  nature,  as  in  that  game  called  tarocco, 
there  are  half  a  dozen  packs  mixed  up  together, 
and  the  address  required  to  play  them  is  consid- 
erable. " 

"You  have  a  very  satisfactory  estimate  of  your 
own  abilities,  Joe." 


LOKD    KILllOimiX. 


8«J 


"And  why  not  ?  If  a  clover  follow  didn'l  know 
he  was  clever,  the  opinion  of  the  world  on  In* 
superiority  would  probably  turn  his  brain." 

"And  "what  do  you  Bay  if  ins  own  vanity  should 

doit?" 

"There  is  really  no  way  of  explaining  to  a 

follow  like  you — " 

••  What  do  you  moan  by  a  fellow  like  me?" 
broke  in  Dick,  somewhat  angrily. 

"  I  moan  this,  that  [*d  aa  soon  sot  to  work  to 
explain  the  theory  of  exchequer  bonds  to  an  Es- 
quimaux ;is  to  make  an  unimaginative  man  un- 
derstand something  purely  speculative.  What 
you  and  scores  of  follows  like  you  denominate 
vanity,  is  only  another  form  ot  hopefulness.  You 
and  your  brethren — for  you  are  a  large  family — 
do  not  know  what  it  is  to  Hope!  that  is,  you 
have  no  idea  of  what  it  is  to  build  on  the  founda- 
tion of  certain  qualities  you  recognize  in  your- 
self, and  to  say  that  'If  I  can  go  so  far  with  such 
a  gift,  such  another  will  help  me  on  so  much  far- 
ther.'" 

"  I  tell  you  one  tiling  I  do  hope,  which  is,  that 
the  next  time  I  set  out  on  a  twelve  miles'  walk 
1 11  have  a  companion  less  imbued  with  self-ad- 
miration." 

"  And  you  might  and  might  not  find  him 
pleasantcr  company.  Can  not  you  see,  old  fel- 
low, that  the  very  things  you  object  to  in  me  are 
what  are  wanting  in  you?  they  are,  so  to  say, 
the  complements  of  your  own  temperament." 

'"  Have  you  a  cigar?" 

"Two — take  them  both.  I'd  rather  talk  than 
smoke  just  now." 

"  I  am  almost  sorry,  for  it,  though  it  gives  me 
the  tobacco." 

'•  Are  we  on  your  father's  property  yet?" 

"Yes;  part  of  that  village  we  came  through 
belongs  to  us,  and  all  this  bog  here  is  burs." 

"Why  don't  you  reclaim  it?  labor  costs  a 
mere  nothing  in  this  country.  Why  don't  you 
drain  these  tracts,  and  treat  the  soil  with  lime? 
I'd  live  on  potatoes,  I'd  make  my  family  live  on 
potatoes,  and  my  son,  and  my  grandson,  for  three 
generations,  but  I'd  win  this  land  back  to  culture 
and  productiveness." 

"The  fee-simple  of  the  soil  wouldn't  pay  the 
cost.  It  would  be  cheaper  to  save  the  money 
and  buy  an  estate." 

"That  is  one,  and  a  very  narrow  view  of  it; 
but  imagine  the  glory  of  restoring  a  lost  tract  to 
a  nation,  welcoming  hack  the  prodigal,  and  in- 
stalling him  in  his  place  among  his  brethren. 
This  was  all  forest  once.  Under  the  shade  of 
the  mighty  oaks  here  those  gallant  O'Caharneys, 
your  ancestors,  followed  the  chase,  or  rested  at 
noon-tide,  or  skedaddled  in  double-quick  before 
those  smart  English  of  the  Pale,  who,  I  must 
say.  treated  your  forebears  with  scant  courtesy." 

•'  We  held  our  own  against  them  for  many  a 
year." 

"  Only  when  it  became  so  small  it  was  not 
worth  taking.      Is  not  your  father  a  Whig?" 

"  He's  a  Liberal,  but  he  troubles  himself  little 
about  parties." 

'•  He's  a  stout  Catholic,  though,  isn't  he?" 

'•  He  is  a  very  devout  believer  in  his  Church," 
said  Dick,  with  the  tone  of  one  who  did  not  de- 
sire to  continue  the  theme. 

"Then  why  does  he  stop  at  whiggcry  ?  why 
not  go  in  for  nationalism  and  all  the  rest  of  it  ?" 

"And  what's  all  the  rest  of  it?" 


"Gnat   Ireland — no  fust  (lower  of  the  earth 

or  gem  of  the  sea  humbug-  but  Ireland  great  in 
prosperity,  her  harbors  full  of  ships,  the  woolen 
trade,  her  ancient  staple,  revived;  all  that  vast 
unused  water-power,  greater  than  all  the  steam 

of  Manchester  and    Birmingham   tenfold,  at  lull 
work  ;    the  linen  manufacture  developed  and  pro 
moted — " 
"And  the  Union  repealed  ?" 

"Of  course;  that  should  be  first  of  all.  Not 
that  I  object  to  the  Union,  as  many  do,  on  the 
grounds  of  English  ignorance  as  to  Ireland.  My 
dislike  is,  that,  for  the  sake  of  carrying  through 
certain  measures  necessary  to  Irish  interests.  I 
must  sit  anil  discuss  questions  which  have  no 
possible  concern  for  me,  and  touch  me  no  more 
than  the  debates  in  the  Cortes,  or  the  Keichskam- 
mer  at  Vienna.  What  do  you  or  I  care  for  who 
rules  India,  or  who  owns  Turkey  ?  What  inter- 
est of  mine  is  it  whether  Great  Britain  has  five 
ironclads  or  fifty,  or  whether  the  Yankees  take 
Canada,  and  the  Russians  Cabonl?" 

"You're  a  Fenian,  and  I  am  not." 

"  I  suppose  you'd  call  yourself  an  English- 
man ?" 

"I'm  an  English  subject,  and  I  owe  my  al- 
legiance to  England." 

"Perhaps,  for  that  matter,  I  owe  some  too; 
but  I  owe  a  great  many  things  that  I  don't  dis- 
tress myself  about  paying." 

"  Whatever  your  sentiments  are  on  these  mat- 
ters— and,  Joe,  I  am  not  disposed  to  think  you 
have  any  very  fixed  ones — pray  do  mo  the  favor 
to  keep  them  to  yourself  while  under  my  father's 
roof.  I  can  almost  promise  you  he'll  obtrude 
none  of  his  peculiar  opinions  on  you,  and  I  hope 
you  will  treat  him  with  a  like  delicacy." 

"What  will  your  folks  talk,  then?  I  can't 
suppose  they  care  for  books,  art,  or  the  drama. 
There  is  no  society,  so  there  can  be  no  gossip. 
If  that  yonder  be  the  cabin  of  one  of  your  tenants, 
I'll  certainly  not  start  the  question  of  farming." 

"There  are  poor  on  every  estate,"  said  Dick, 
curtly. 

"  Now  what  sort  of  a  rent  does  that  fellow  pay 
— five  pounds  a  year  ?" 

"More  likely  live-and-twenty  or  thirty  shil- 
lings." 

"  By  Jove!  I'd  like  to  set  up  house  in  that 
fashion,  and  make  love  to  some  delicately  nur- 
j  tured  miss,  win  her  affections,  and  bring  her 
home  to  such  a  spot.  Wouldn't  that  be  a  touch- 
stone of  affection,  Dick  ?" 

"  If  I  could  believe  you  were  in  earnest,  I'd 
throw  yon  neck  and  heels  into  that  bog-hole." 

"Oil,  if  you  would!"  cried  he;  and  there 
was  a  ring  of  truthfulness  in  his  voice  now. there 
could  be  no  mistaking. 

Half  ashamed  of  the  emotion  his  idle  speech 
hail  called  up,  and  uncertain  how  best  to  treat 
the  emergency,  Kearney  said  nothing,  and  Atlee- 
walked  along  for  miles  without  a  word. 

"You  can  see  the  house  now.  Jt  tops  the 
trees  yonder,"  said  Dick, 

"That  is  Kilgobbin  Castle,  then?"  said  Joe. 
slowly. 

"There's  not  much  of  castle  left  about  it. 
There  is  a  square  block  of  a  tower,  and  yon 
can  trace  the  moat  and  some,  remains  of  out- 
works." 

"Shall  I  make  you  a  confession,  Dick?  I 
envy  you  all  that !     1  envy  you  what  smacks  of 


40 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


a  race,  a  name,  an  ancestry,  a  lineage.  It's  a 
great  thing  to  be  able  to  '  take  up  the  running,' 
as  the  folks  say,  instead  of  making  all  the  race 
yourself;  and  there's  one  inestimable  advantage 
in  it — it  rescues  you  from  all  indecent  haste  about 
asserting  your  station.  You  feel  yourself  to  be  a 
somebody,  and  you're  not  hurried  to  proclaim  it. 
There  now,  my  boy,  if  you'd  have  said  only  half 
as  much  as  that  on  the  score  of  your  family,  I'd 
have  called  you  an  arrant  snob.  So  much  for 
consistency ! " 

"What  you  have  said  gave  me  pleasure,  I'll 
own  that." 

"  I  suppose  it  was  you  planted  those  trees  there. 
It  was  a  nice  thought,  and  makes  the  transition 
from  the  bleak  bog  to  the  cultivated  land  more 
easy  and  graceful.  Now  I  see  the  Castle  well. 
It's  a  fine  portly  mass  against  the  morning  sky, 
and  I  perceive  you  fly  a  flag  over  it." 

"  When  the  lord  is  at  home." 

"Ay;  and  by-the-way,  do  you  give  him  his 
title  while  talking  to  him  here?" 

"  The  tenants  do,  and  the  neighbors  and  stran- 
gers do  as  they  please  about  it." 

"Does  he  like  it  himself?" 

"  If  I  was  to  guess,  I  should  perhaps  say  he 
does  like  it.  Here  we  are  now.  Inside  this  low 
gate  you  are  within  the  demesne,  and  I  may  bid 
you  welcome  to  Kilgobbin.  We  shall  build  a 
lodge  here  one  of  these  days.  There's  a  good 
stretch,  however,  yet  to  the  Castle.  We  call  it 
two  miles,  and  it's  not  far  short  of  it." 

"What  a  glorious  morning!  There  is  an  ec- 
stasy in  scenting  these  nice  fresh  woods  in  the 
clear  sunrise,  and  seeing  those  modest  daffodils 
make  their  morning  toilet." 

"  That's  a  fancy  of  Kate's.  There  is  a  border 
of  such  wild  flowers  all  the  way  to  the  house." 

"And  those  rills  of  clear  water  that  flank  the 
road,  are  they  of  her  designing  ?" 

"  That  they  are.  There  was  a  cutting  made 
for  a  railroad  line  about  four  miles  from  this,  and 
they  came  upon  a  sort  of  pudding-stone  forma- 
tion, made  up  chiefly  of  white  pebbles.  Kate 
heard  of  it,  purchased  the  whole  mass,  and  had 
these  channels  paved  with  them  from  the  gate  to 
the  Castle,  and  that's  the  reason  this  water  has  its 
crystal  clearness." 

"  She's  worthy  of  Shakspeare's  sweet  epithet, 
the  'daintiest  Kate  in  Christendom.'  Here's 
her  health !"  and  he  stooped  down,  and,  filling  his 
palm  with  the  running  water,  drank  it  off. 

"  I  see  it's  not  yet  five  o'clock.  We'll  steal  qui- 
etly oft'  to  bed,  and  have  three  or  four  hours' 
sleep  before  we  show  ourselves." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A    SICK-ROOM. 

Cecil  Walpole  occupied  the  state-room  and 
the  state-bed  at  Kilgobbin  Castle ;  but  the  pain  of 
a  very  serious  wound  had  left  him  very  little  facul- 
ty to  know  what  honor  was  rendered  him,  or  of 
what  watchful  solicitude  he  was  the  object.  The 
fever  brought  on  by  his  wound  had  obliterated 
in  his  mind  all  memory  of  where  he  was :  and  it 
was  only  now — that  is,  on  the  same  morning 
that  the  young  men  had  arrived  at  the  Castle — 
that  he  was  able  to  converse  without  much  diffi- 
culty, and  enjoy  the  companionship  of  Lockwood, 


who  had  come  over  to  see  him,  and  scarcely  quit- 
ted his  bedside  since  the  disaster. 

"  It  seems  going  on  all  right,"  said  Lockwood, 
as  he  lifted  the  iced  cloths  to  look  at  the  smashed 
limb,  which  lay  swollen  and  livid  on  a  pillow  out- 
side the  clothes. 

"It's  not  pretty  to  look  at,  Harry;  but  the 
doctor  says  '  we  shall  save  it ' — his '  phrase  for 
not  cutting  it  off."   . 

"They've  taken  up  two  fellows  on  suspicion, 
and  I  believe  they  were  of  the  party  here  that 
night." 

"  I  don't  much  care  about  that.  It  was  a  fair 
fight,  and  I  suspect  I  did  not  get  the  worst  of  it. 
What  really  does  grieve  me  is  to  think  how  in- 
gloriously  one  gets  a  wound  that  in  real  war 
would  have  been  a  title  of  honor." 

"If  I  had  to  give  a  V.  C.  for  this  affair,  it 
would  be  to  that  fine  girl  I'd  give  it,  and  not  to 
you,  Cecil." 

"  So  should  I.  There  is  no  question  whatever 
as  to  our  respective  shares  in  the  achievement." 

"And  she  is  so  modest  and  unaffected  about  it 
all ;  and  when  she  was  showing  me  the  position 
and  the  alcove  she  never  ceased  to  lay  stress  on 
the  safety  she  enjoyed  during  the  conflict." 

"Then  she  said  nothing  about  standing  in 
front  of  me  after  I  was  wounded  ?" 

"Not  a  word.  She  said  a  great  deal  about 
your  coolness  and  indifference  to  danger,  but 
nothing  about  her  own." 

"Well,  I  suppose  it's  almost  a  shame  to  own 
it — not  that  I  could  have  done  any  thing  to  pre- 
vent it — but  she  did  step  down  one  step  of  the 
stair  and  actually  cover  me  from  fire." 

"She's  the  finest  girl  in  Europe!"  said  Lock- 
wood,  warmly. 

"And  if  it  was  not  the  contrast  with  her  cousin, 
I'd  almost  say  one  of  the  handsomest,"  said  Cecil. 

"The  Greek  is  splendid,  I  admit  that,  though 
she'll  not  speak — she'll  scarcely  notice  me. " 

"How  is  that?" 

"  I  can't  imagine,  except  it  might  have  been 
an  awkward  speech  I  made  when  we  were  talking 
over  the  row.  I  said,  '  Where  were  you  ?  what 
were  you  doing  all  this  time  ?'  " 

"And  what  answer  did  she  make  you?" 

"None:  not  a  word.  She  drew  herself  proud- 
ly up,  and  opened  her  eyes  so  large  and  full  upon 
me  that  I  felt  I  must  have  appeared  some  sort 
of  monster  to  be  so  stared  at. " 

"  I've  seen  her  do  that." 

"It  was  very  grand  and  very  beautiful;  but 
I'll  be  shot  if  I'd  like  to  stand  under  it  again. 
From  that  time  to  this  she  has  never  deigned  me 
more  than  a  mere  salutation." 

' '  And  are  you  good  friends  with  the  other  girl  ?" 

"  The  best  in  the  world.  I  don't  see  much 
of  her,  for  she's  always  abroad,  over  the  farm  or 
among  the  tenants ;  but  when  we  meet  we  are 
very  cordial  and  friendly." 

"And  the  father,  what  is  he  like?" 

"  My  lord  is  a  glorious  old  fellow,  full  of  hos- 
pitable plans  and  pleasant  projects ;  but  terribly 
distressed  to  think  that  this  unlucky  incident 
should  prejudice  you  against  Ireland.  Indeed, 
he  gave  me  to  understand  that  there  must  have 
been  some  mistake  or  misconception  in  the  mat- 
ter, for  the  Castle  had  never  been  attacked  be- 
fore ;  and  he  insists  on  saying  that  if  you  will 
stop  here — I  think  he  said  ten  years — you'll  not 
see  another  such  occurrence." 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


11 


••  It's  rather  a  hard  way  to  test  the  problem, 
thoagfa." 

••  What's  more,  he  included  me  in  the  experi- 
ment." 

"And  this  title?  Doea  he  assume  it,  or  ex- 
pect it  tn  be  recognised?" 

••  1  can  BCarcely  tell  VOU.  The  Creek  girl  '  my- 
lords'  him  occasionally :  his  daughter,  never. 
The  servants  always  do  so :  ami  1  take  it  that 
people  use  their  own  diseretion  about  it." 

"Or  do  it  in  a  sort  of  indolent  courtesy,  as 
they  eall  Marsala,  sherry,  hut  take  Care  at  the 
game  time  to  paaa  the  decanter.  I  believe  you 
telegraphed  to  his  Excellency  ?" 

•  •  Yes :  and  he  means  to  come  over  next  week. " 

"Any  news  of  Lady  Maude  ?" 

••  ( )id'y  that  she  tomes  with  him,  and  I'm  sor- 
ry for  it." 

"So  am  I — deuced  sorry!  In  a  gossiping 
town  like  Dublin  there  will  surely  he  some  story 
atloat  about  these  handsome  girls  here.  She  saw 
the  Greek,  too,  at  the  Duke  of  Rigati's  ball  at 
Rome,  and  she  never  forgets  a  name  or  a  face. 
A  pleasant  trait  in  a  wife." 

"  Of  course  the  best  plan  will  be  to  get  re- 
moved, and  be  safely  installed  in  our  old  quarters 
at  the  Castle  before  they  arrive. " 

"  We  must  hear  what  the  doctor  says." 

"  He'll  say  no,  naturally,  for  he'll  not  like  to 
lose  his  patient.  He  will  have  to  convey  you  to 
town,  ami  we'll  try  and  make  him  believe  it  will 
be  the  making  of  him.  Don't  you  agree  with 
me.  Cecil,  it's  the  thing  to  do?" 

"I  have  not  thought  it  over  yet.  I  will  to- 
day. By-the-way.  1  know  it's  the  thing  to  do, "  re- 
peated he.  with  an  air  of  determination.  ''There 
will  be  all  manner  of  reports,  scandals,  and  false- 
hoods to  no  end  about  this  business  here :  and 
when  Lady  Maude  learns,  as  she  is  sure  to  learn, 
that  the  'Greek  girl'  is  in  the  story,  I  can  not 
measure  the  mischief  that  may  come  of  it." 

••  Break  off  the  match,  eh?" 

'•  That  is  certainly  'on  the  cards.'" 

"I  suspect  even  that  wouldn't  break  your 
heart" 

"  I  don't  say  it  would,  but  it  would  prove  very 
inconvenient  in  many  ways.  Danesbury  has  great 
claims  on  his  party.  He  came  here  as  Viceroy 
dead  against  his  will,  and,  depend  upon  it,  he 
made  his  terms.  Then  if  these  people  go  out, 
and  the  Tories  want  to  outbid  them,  Danesbury 
could  take — ay,  and  would  take — office  under 
them." 

"  I  can  not  follow  all  that.  All  I  know  is,  I 
like  the  old  boy  himself,  though  he  is  a  bit  pomp- 
on- now  and  then,  and  fancies  he's  Emperor  of 
Russia." 

"  I  wish  his  niece  didn't  imagine  she  was  an 
imperial  princess." 

••  That  she  does!  I  think  she  is  the  haughti- 
est girl  I  ever  met.  To  be  sure,  she  was  a  great 
beauty. " 

•  •  it  'ax,  1  [any  !  What  do  you  mean  by  '  was  ?' 
Lady  Maude  is  not  cight-and-twenty." 

••Ain't  she,  though?     Will  you  have  a  ten- 
pound  note  on  it  that  she's  not  over  thirty-one  ; 
and  I  can  tell  you  who  could  decide  the  wager?" 
"  A  delicate  thought ! — a  fellow  betting  on  the 
age  of  the  girl  he's  going  to  marry  !" 

"Ten  o'clock — nearly  half  past  ten!"  said 
Lockwood,  rising  from  his  chair.  "I  inu-i  go 
and  have  some  breakfast.      I  meant  to  have  been 


down   in   time  to-day,  and  breakfasted   with   the 
old     fellow   and    his    daughter:    for    coming  late 

brings  me  to  a  t4te-a~t£te  with  the  Greek  damsel, 

and  it  isn't  jolly,  I  assure  yon." 

••  Don't  you  speak?" 

"Never  a  word!  She's  generally  reading  a 
newspaper  when  1  go  in.  She  lays  it  down  : 
but  after  remarking  that  she  fears  111  find  the 
coffee  cold,  she  goes  on  with  her  breakfast,  kisses 
her  Maltese  terrier,  a>ks  him  a  few  questions 
about  his  health,  and  whether  he  would  like  to  be 
in  a  warmer  climate,  and  then  sails  away." 

"And  how  she  walks  !" 

"  Is  she  bored  here?" 

"She  says  not." 

"She  can  scarcely  like  these  people:  they're 
not  the  sort  of  thing  she  has  ever  been  used  to." 

"She  tells  me  she  likes  them;  they  certainly 
like  her." 

"Wrell," said  Lockwood,  with  a  sigh,  "she's 
the  most  beautiful  woman,  certainly,  I've  ever 
seen  ;  and  at  this  moment  I'd  rather  eat  a  crust 
with  a  glass  of  beer  under  a  hedge,  than  I'd  go 
down  and  sit  at  breakfast  with  her." 

"  I'll  be  shot  if  I'll  not  tell  her  that  speech  the 
first  day  I'm  down  again." 

"  So  you  may,  for  by  that  time  I  shall  have 
seen  her  for  the  last  time."  And  with  this  he 
strolled  out  of  the  room  and  down  the  stairs  to- 
ward the  breakfast  parlor. 

As  he  stood  at  the  door  he  heard  the  sound  of 
voices  laughing  and  talking  pleasantly.  He  en- 
tered, and  Nina  arose  as  he  came  forward,  and 
said,  "Let  me  present  my  cousin — Mr.  Richard 
Kearney,  Major  Lockwood ;  his  friend,  Mr.  At- 
lee." 

The  two  young  men  stood  up — Kearney  stiff 
and  haughty,  and  Atlee  with  a  sort  of  easy  assur- 
ance that  seemed  to  suit  his  good-looking  but 
certainly  snobbish  style.  As  for  Lockwood,  he 
was  too* much  a  gentleman  to  have  more  than  one 
manner,  and  he  received  these  two  men  as  he 
would  have  received  any  other  two  of  any  rank 
any  where. 

"These  gentlemen  have  been  showing  mo 
some  strange  versions  of  our  little  incident  here 
in  the  Dublin  papers,"  said  Nina  to  Lockwood. 
"I  scarcely  thought  we  should  become  so  fa- 
mous. " 

"  I  suppose  they  don't  stickle  much  for  truth," 
said  Lockwood,  as  he  broke  his  egg  in  leisurely 
fashion. 

"They  were  scarcely  able  to  provide  a  special 
correspondent  for  the  event,"  said  Atlee ;  "  but  I 
take  it  they  give  the  main  facts  pretty  accurately 
and  fairly." 

"Indeed  !"  said  Lockwood.  more  struck  by  the 
manner  than  by  the  words  of  the  speaker.  "They 
mention,  then,  that  my  friend  received  a  bad  frac- 
ture of  the  forearm  ?" 

"  No,  I  don't  think  they  do;  at  least,  so  far  as 
I  have  seen.  They  -peal.  ,,t'  a  night  attack  on 
Kilgobhin  Castle,  made  by  an  armed  part}  of  six 
or  -even  men  with  faces  blackened,  and  their  com- 
plete repulse  through  the  heroic  conduct  of  a 
young  lady." 

"The  main  fact-,  then,  include  no  mention  of 

I r  Walpoleand  hi-  misfortune?" 

"I  don't  think  that  we  mere  Irish  attach  any 
great  importance  to  a  broken  arm,  w  nether  it  came 
df  a  cricket-ball  or  gun ;  but  we  do  interest  our- 

Belves  deeply  when  an  Irish  girl  displays  feat-  of 


42 


LORD  KILGOBBIX. 


heroism  and  courage  that  men  find  it  hard  to  ri- 
val." 

"  It  was  very  fine,"  said  Lockwood,  gravely. 

"  Fine !  I  should  think  it  was  fine ! "  burst  out 
Atlee.  "  It  was  so  fine  that  had  the  deed  been 
done  on  the  other  side  of  this  narrow  sea,  the  na- 


' '  to  hear  the  examination  of  two  fellows  who  have 
been  taken  up  on  suspicion." 

"You  have  plenty  of  this  sort  of  thing  in  your 
country,"  said  Atlee  to  Nina. 

"  Where  do  you  mean,  when  you  say  my  coun- 
try ?" 


tinn  would  not  have  been  satisfied  till  your  Poet 
Laureate  had  commemorated  it  in  verse." 

"Have  they  discovered  any  traces  of  the  fel- 
lows?" said  Lockwood,  who  declined  to  follow 
the  discussion  into  this  channel. 

"My  father  has  gone  over  to  Moate  to-day," 
said  Kearney,  now  speaking  for  the  first  time, 


"I  mean  Greece." 

"But  I  have  not  seen  Greece  since  I  was  a 
child,  so  high;  I  have  lived  always  in  Italy." 

' '  Well,  Italy  has  Calabria  and  the  Terra  del 
Lavoro." 

"And  how  much  do  we  in  Rome  know  about 
either?" 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


•!:: 


"About  as  much,"  said  Lockwood,  "as  Bel- 
gravia  dues  of  the  Bog  of  Alien." 

"You'll  return  to  y«>ur  friends  in  civilized  lift 
with  almost  the  fame  of  an  African  traveler,  Ma- 
jor Lock  wood,"  sai.l  Athv.  pertly. 

"If  Africa  can  boast  such  hospitality,  I  cer- 
tainly rather  envy  than  compassionate  Doctor 
Livingstone,"  said  he,  politely. 

••  Somebody,"  said  Kearney,  dryly,  "  calls  hos- 

pitality  the  breeding  of  the  savage.' 

"But  I  deny  that  we  are  savage,"  cried  Atlee. 
•■  I  contend  for  it  that  all  our  civilisation  is  higher, 

and  that,  elass  for  class,  we  are  in  a  more  advanced 
culture  than  the  English ;  that  your  chawbacon 
is  not  as  intelligent  a  being  as  our  bog-trotter; 
that  your  petty  shop-keeper  is  inferior  to  ours; 
that  throughout  our  middle  classes  there  is  not 
only  a  higher  morality  hut  a  higher  refinement 
than  with  you." 

••  I  read  in  one  of  the  most  accredited  journals 
of  England  the  other  day  that  Ireland  had  never 
produced  a  poet,  could  not  even  show  a  second- 
rate  humorist,"  said  Kearney. 

••  Swift  and  Sterne  were  third-rate,  or,  perhaps, 
English,"  said  Atlee. 

"These  are  themes  I'll  not  attempt  to  discuss," 
said  Luck  wood  ;  "  but  I  know  one  thing  :  it  takes 
three  times  as  much  military  force  to  govern  the 
smaller  island." 

"That  is  to  say,  to  govern  the  country  after  your 
fashion ;  but  leave  it  to  ourselves.  Pack  your 
portmanteaus  and  go  away,  and  then  see  if  we'll 
need  this  parade  of  horse,  foot,  and  dragoons; 
these  batteries  of  guns  and  these  brigades  of 
peelers." 

•■  You'd  be  the  first  to  beg  us  to  come  back 
again." 

"Doubtless,  as  the  Greeks  are  begging  the 
Turks.  Eh,  Mademoiselle,  can  you  fancy  throw- 
in..;  yourself  at  the  feet  of  a  Pasha  and  asking 
leave  to  be  his  slave  ?" 

"The  only  Greek  slave  I  ever  heard  of,"  said 
Lockwood,  "was  in  marble,  and  made  by  an 
American." 

" "  ( Some  into  the  drawing-room  and  I'll  sing  you 
something,"  said  Nina,  rising. 

"  Which  will  be  far  nicer  and  pleasanter  than 
all  this  discussion,"  said  Joe. 

"And  if  you'll  permit  me,"  said  Lockwood, 
"we'll  leave  the  drawing-room  door  open  and  let 
poor  Walpole  hear  the  music." 

"Would  it  not  be  better  first  to  see  if  he's 
asleep  ?"  said  she. 

"That's  true.     I'll  step  up  and  see." 

Lockwood  hurried  away,  and  Joe  Atlee,  lean- 
ing back  in  his  chair,  said,.  "  Well,  we  gave  the 
Saxon  a  canter,  I  think.  As  you  know,  Dick, 
that  fellow  is  no  end  of  a  swell." 

"You  know  nothing  about  him,"  said  the  other, 
gruffly. 

"Only  so  much  as  newspapers  could  tell  me. 
He'-  .Master  of  the  Horse  in  the  Viceroy's  house- 
hold, and  the  other  fellow  is  Private  Secretary, 

ami  Bome  connection  besides.     I  say,  Dick,  it's 

all  King  James's  time-  back  again.  '  There  has 
not  been  so  much  grandeur  here  fur  six  or  eight 
generations." 

"There  has  not  been  a  more  absurd  speech 
made,  than  that,  within  the  time." 

"And  he  is  really  a  somebody?"  said  Nina  to 
Atlee. 

"  A  gran  signore  davvero,''  said  he,  pompously. 


'•  [f  yon   don't   ring  yuur  very  best   fur  him,  I'll 
swear  yoa  are  a  republican." 

"Come,  take  my  arm.  Nina.  1  may  call  you 
Nina,  may   1  nut  ?"  whispered  Kearney. 

"Certainly,  if  I  may  call  you  Joe." 

"  Yuu  may.  if  you  like,"  said  he,  roughly,  "  but 
my  name  is  Dick." 

"  I  am  Beppo,  and  very  much  at  your  orders," 
said  Atlee,  stepping  forward  and  leading  her  aw  ay. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

AT    DINNER. 

They  were  assembled  in  the  drawing-room  be- 
fore dinner,  when  Lord  Kilgobhin  arrived,  heat- 
ed, dusty,  and  tired,  after  his  twelve-miles'  drive. 
"I  say,  girls,"  said  he,  putting  his  head  inside 
the  door,  "  is  it  true  that  our  distinguished  guest 
is  not  coming  down  to  dinner?  for,  if  so,  I'll  not 
wait  to  dress." 

"No,  papa;  he  said  he'd  stay  with  Mr.  Wal- 
pole They've  been  receiving  and  dispatching  tel- 
egrams all  day,  and  seem  to  have  the  whole  world 
on  their  hands,"  said  Kate. 

"Well,  Sir,  what  did  you  do  at  the  sessions?" 

"  Yes,  my  lord,"  broke  in  Nina,  eager  to  show 
her  more  mindful  regard  to  his  rank  than  Atlee 
displayed  ;    "  tell  us  your  news." 

"  I  suspect  we  have  got  two  of  them,  and  are 
on  the  traces  of  the  others.  They  are  Louth  men, 
and  were  sent  special  here  to  give  me  a  lesson,  as 
they  call  it.  That's  what  our  blessed  newspapers 
have  brought  us  to.  Some  idle  vagabond,  at  his 
wits'  end  for  an  article,  fastens  on  some  unlucky 
country  gentleman,  neither  much  better  nor  worse 
than  his  neighbors,  holds  him  up  to  public  repro- 
bation, perfectly  sure  that  within  a  week's  time 
some  rascal  who  owes  him  a  grudge — the  fellow 
he  has  evicted  for  non-payment  of  rent,  the  black- 
guard he  prosecuted  for  perjury,  or  some  other 
of  the  like  stamp — will  write  a  piteous  letter  to 
the  editor,  relating  his  wrongs.  The  next  act  of 
the  drama  is  a  notice  on  the  hall  door,  with  a  cof- 
fin at  the  top  ;  and  the  piece  closes  with  a  charge 
of  slugs  in  your  body,  as  you  are  on  your  road 
to  mass.  Now,  if  I  had  the  making  of  the  laws, 
the  first  fellow  I'd  lay  hands  on  would  be  the 
newspaper  writer.    Eh,  Master  Atlee,  am  I  right?" 

"  I  go  with  you  to  the  furthest  extent,  my  lord." 

"  I  vote  we  hang  Joe,  then,"  cried  Dick.  "  He 
is  the  only  member  of  the  fraternity  i  have  any 
acquaintance  with." 

"  What !  do  you  tell  me  that  you  write  for  the 
papers?"  asked  my  lord,  slyly. 

"He's  quizzing,  Sir;  he  knows  right  well  I 
have  no  gifts  of  that  sort." 

"Here's  dinner,  papa.  Will  you  give  Xina 
your  arm  ?     Mr.  Atlee,  you  are  to  take  me." 

"You'll  not  agree  with  me,  Nina,  my  dear." 
said  the  old  man,  as  he  led  her  along  ;  "  but  I'm 
heartily  glad  we  have  not  that  great  swell  who 
dined  with  us  yesterday." 

"  I  do  agree  with  you,  uncle — I  dislike  him." 

"Perhaps  I'm  unjust  to  him;  but  I  thought 

he  treated  us  all  with  a  suit  of  bland  pity  that  I 
found  very  offensive." 

"Yes;  I  thought  that  too.  His  manner 
seemed  to  say,  'I  am  very  sorry  for  yuu,  but  what 
can  be  done?' " 

"Is  the  other  fellow — the  wounded  one — as  bad?'1 


U 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


She  pursed  up  her  lip,  slightly  shrugged  her 
shoulders,  and  then  said,  "There's  not  a  great 
deal  to  choose  between  them ;  but  I  think  I  like 
him  better." 

' '  How  do  you  like  Dick,  eh  ?"  said  he,  in  a 
whisper. 

"  Oh,  so  much !"  said  she,  with  one  of  her  half- 
downcast  looks,  but  which  never  prevented  her 
seeing  what  passed  in  her  neighbor's  face. 

"Well,  don't  let  him  fall  in  love  with  you," 
said  he,  with  a  smile,  "for  it  would  be  bad  for 
you  both. " 

"But  why  should  he?"  said  she,  with  an  air 
of  innocence. 

' '  Just  because  I  don't  see  how  he  is  to  escape 
it.     What's  Master  Atlee  saying  to  you,  Kitty  ?" 
"He's  giving  me  some  hints  about  horse-break- 
ing," said  she,  quietly. 

"  Is  he  ?  by  George !  Well,  I'd  like  to  see  him 
follow  you  over  that  fallen  timber  in  the  back 
lawn.  We'll  have  you  out,  Master  Joe,  and  give 
you  a  field-day  to-morrow,"  said  the  old  man. 

"I  vote  we  do," cried  Dick;  "unless,  better 
still,  we  could  persuade  Miss  Betty  to  bring  the 
dogs  over  and  give  us  a  cub-hunt." 

"I  want  to  see  a  cub-hunt,"  broke  in  Nina. 
"  Do  you  mean  that  you  ride  to  hounds,  Cousin 
Nina?"  asked  Dick. 

"  I  should  think  that  any  one  who  has  taken 
the  ox-fences  on  the  Roman  Campagna,  as  I 
have,  might  venture  to  face  your  small  stone  walls 
here. " 

"That's  plucky,  anyhow  ;  and  I  hope,  Joe,  it 
will  put  you  on  your  mettle  to  show  yourself 
worthy  of  your  companionship.  What  is  old 
Mathew  looking  so  mysteriously  about  ?  What 
do  you  want  ?" 

The  old  servant  thus  addressed  had  gone  about 
the  room  with  the  air  of  one  not  fully  decided  to 
whom  to  speak,  and  at  last  he  leaned  over  Miss 
Kearney's  shoulder,  and  whispered  a  few  words 
in  her  ear.  "Of  course  not,  Mat!"  said  she; 
and  then  taming  to  her  father,  "Mat  has  such 
an  opinion  of  my  medical  skill,  he  wants  me  to 
see  Mr.  Walpole,  who,  it  seems,  has  got  up,  and 
evidently  increased  his  pain  by  it." 

"Oh,  but  is  there  no  doctor  near  us?"  asked 
Nina,  eagerly. 

"  I'd  go  at  once,"  said  Kate,  frankly,  "but  my 
skill  does  not  extend  to  surgery. " 

"  I  have  some  little  knowledge  in  that  way  ;  I 

studied  and  walked  the  hospitals  for  a  couple  of 

years, "  broke  out  Joe.     ' '  Shall  I  go  up  to  him  ?" 

"  By  all  means,"  cried  several  together,  and 

Joe  arose  and  followed  Mathew  up  stairs. 

' '  Oh,  are  you  a  medical  man  ?"  cried  Lock- 
wood,  as  the  other  entered. 

"After  a  fashion,  I  may  say  I  am.  At  least 
I  can  tell  you  where  my  skill  will  come  to  its 
limit,  and  that  is  something." 

"Look  here,  then — he  would  insist  on  getting 
up,  and  I  fear  he  has  displaced  the  position  of  the 
bones.  You  must  be  very  gentle,  for  the  pain  is 
terrific. " 

"  No ;  there's  no  great  mischief  done — the 
fractured  parts  are  in  a  proper  position.  It  is 
the  mere  pain  of  disturbance.  Cover  it  all  over 
with  the  ice  again,  and  " — here  he  felt  his  pulse 
— "let  him  have  some  weak  brandy-and-water." 
"  That's  sensible  advice — I  feel  it.  I  am 
shivery  all  over,"  said  Walpole. 

"I'll  go  and  make  a  brew  for  you,"  cried  Joe, 


"  and  you  shall  have  it  as  hot  as  you  can  drink 
it." 

He  had  scarcely  left  the  room,  when  he  return- 
ed with  the  smoking  compound. 

"  You're  such  a  jolly  doctor,"  said  Walpole,  "  I 
feel  sure  you'd  not  refuse  me  a  cigar  ?" 
"Certainly  not." 

"  Only  think !  that  old  barbarian  who  was 
here  this  morning  said  I  was  to  have  nothing  but 
weak  tea  or  iced  lemonade. " 

Lockwood  selected  a  mild-looking  weed  and 
handed  it  to  his  friend,  and  was  about  to  offer 
one  to  Atlee,  when  he  said  : 

' '  But  we  have  taken  you  from  your  dinner — 
pray  go  back  again." 

"No,  we  were  at  dessert.  I'll  stay  here  and 
have  a  smoke,  if  you  will  let  me.  Will  it  bore 
you, though  ?" 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Walpole,  "  your  com- 
pany will  be  a  great  boon  to  us  ;  and  as  for  my- 
self, you  have  done  me  good  already." 

"  What  would  you  say,  Major  Lockwood,  to 
taking  my  place  below  stairs  ?  They  are  just  sit- 
ting over  their  wine — some  very  pleasant  claret, 
and  the  young  ladies,  I  perceive  here,  give  half 
an  hour  of  their  company  before  they  leave  the 
dining-room." 

"Here  goes,  then,"  said  Lockwood.  "Now 
that  you  remind  me  of  it,  I  do  want  a  glass  of 
wine." 

Lockwood  found  the  party  below  stairs  eagerly 
discussing  Joe  Atlee's  medical  qualifications,  and 
doubting  whether,  if  it  was  a  knowledge  of  civil 
engineering  or  marine  gunnery  had  been  required, 
he  would  not  -have  been  equally  ready  to  offer 
himself  for  the  emergency. 

"  I'll  lay  my  life  on  it,  if  the  real  doctor  ar- 
rives, Joe  will  take  the  lead  in  the  consultation," 
cried  Dick  :  "  he  is  the  most  unabashable  villain 
in  Europe." 

"  Well,  he  has  put  Cecil  all  right,"  said  Lock- 
wood  ;  "he  has  settled  the  arm  most  comfortably 
on  the  pillow,  the  pain  is  decreasing  every  mo- 
ment, and  by  his  pleasant  and  jolly  talk  he  is 
making  Walpole  even  forget  it  at  times. " 

This  was  exactly  what  Atlee  was  doing. 
Watching  carefully  the  sick  man's  face,  he  plied 
him  with  just  that  amount  of  amusement  that  he 
could  bear  without  fatigue.  He  told  him  the 
absurd  versions  that  had  got  abroad  of  the  inci- 
dent in  the  press  ;  and  cautiously  feeling  his 
way,  went  on  to  tell  how  Dick  Kearney  had 
started  from  town  full  of  the  most  fiery  inten- 
tions toward  that  visitor  whom  the  newspapers 
called  a  "noted  profligate"  of  London  celebrity. 
"If  you  had  not  been  shot  before,  we  were  to 
have  managed  it  for  you  now,"  said  he. 

"  Surely  these  fellows  who  wrote  this  had 
never  heard  of  me." 

"Of  course  they  had  not,  farther  than  that 
you  were  on  the  Viceroy's  staff;  but  is  not  that 
ample  warranty  for  profligacy?  Besides,  the 
real  intention  was  not  to  assail  you,  but  the  peo- 
ple here  who  admitted  you."  Thus  talking,  he 
led  Walpole  to  own  that  he  had  no  acquaintance- 
ship with  the  Kearneys,  that  a  mere  passing  cu- 
riosity to  see  the  interesting  house  had  provoked 
his  request,  to  which  the  answer,  coming  from  an 
old  friend,  led  to  his  visit.  Through  this  chan- 
nel Atlee  drew  him  on  to  the  subject  of  the  Greek 
girl  and  her  parentage.  As  Walpole  sketched 
the  society  of  Rome,  Atlee,  who  had  cultivated 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


I.-, 


the  gift  of  listening  fully  as  much  as  that  of  talk- 
ing, know  where  to  bomb  interested  bj  the  views 
of  life  thrown  out,  and  where  to  show  a  racy  en- 
joyment of  the  little  hmnoristic  l«its  of  description 
which  the  other  was  rather  proud  of  his  skill  in 
deploying;  and  as  Atloe  always  appeared  so  con- 
versanl  with  the  family  history  of  the  people  they 
were  discussing,  Walpole  spoke  with  iinhounded 
freedom  and  openness. 

••  JTou  must  have  been  astonished  to  meet  the 
'  Titian  girl'  in  Ireland  ':"  said  Joe,  at  last,  for  he 
had  caught  up  the  epithet  dropped  accidentally  in 
the  other's  narrative,  and  kept  it  for  use. 

"Was  I  not!  but,  if  my  memory  had  been 
clearer,  I  should  have  remembered  she  had  Irish 
connections.  I  had  heard  of  Lord  Kilgobbin  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Alps." 

"I  don't  doubt  that  the  title  would  meet  a 
readier  acceptance  there  than  here." 

"Ah.  you  think  so!"  cried  Walpole.  ''What 
is  the  meaning  of  a  rank  that  people  acknowledge 
or  denv  at  pleasure?  Is  this  peculiar  to  Ire- 
land?" 

"If  you  had  asked  whether  persons  any  where 
else  would  like  to  maintain  such  a  strange  pre- 
tension, I  might  perhaps  have  answered  you." 

"For  the  few  minutes  of  his  visit  to  me,  I 
liked  him  ;   he  seemed  frank,  hearty,  and  genial." 

"I  suppose  he  is,  and  I  suspect  this  folly  of 
the  lordship  is  no  fancy  of  his  own." 

"Nor  the  daughter's,  then,  I'll  be  bound." 

"No;  the  son,  I  take  it,  has  all  the  ambition 
of  the  house." 

"Do  you  know  them  well?"- 

••  No :  never  saw  them  till  yesterday.  The  son 
and  I  are  chums  ;  we  live  together,  and  have  done 
so  these  three  years." 

"  You  like  your  visit  here,  however  ?" 

'"  Yes.  It's  rather  good  fun,  on  the  whole.  I 
was  afraid  of  the  in-door  life  when  I  was  coming 
down,  but  it's  pleasanter  than  I  looked  for." 

'•  When  I  asked  you  the  question,  it  was  not 
out  of  idle  curiosity.  I  had  a  strong  personal 
interest  in  your  answer.  In  fact,  it  was  another 
way  of  inquiring  whether  it  would  be  a  great  sac- 
rifice to  tear  yourself  away  from  this." 

"  No,  inasmuch  as  the  tearing  away  process 
must  take  place  in  a  couple  of  days — three  at 
farthest." 

"That  makes  what  I  have  to  propose  all  the 
easier.  It  is  a  matter  of  great  urgency  forme 
to  reach  Dublin  at  once.  This  unlucky  incident 
has  been  so  represented  by  the  newspapers  as  to 
give  considerable  uneasiness  to  the  Government, 
and  they  are  even  threatened  with  a  discussion 
on  it  in  the  House.  Now  I'd  start  to-morrow 
if  I  thought  I  could  travel  with  safety.  You  have 
so  impressed  me  with  your  skill,  that,  if  I  dared, 
Id  ask  yon  to  convoy  me  up.  Of  course  I  mean 
as  my  physician." 

"  But  I'm  not  one,  nor  ever  intend  to  be." 
"You  studied,  however?" 
"  As  I  have  done  scores  of  things.  I  know  a 
little  bit  of  criminal  law — have  done  some  ship- 
building— rode  haute  eco/e  in  Cooke's  Circus — 
and,  after  M.  Dumas,  I  am  considered  the  best 
amateur  macaroni-maker  in  Europe." 

"And  which  of  these  careers  do  you  intend  to 
abide  by  ?" 

••  None,  not  one  of  them.  '  Financing'  is  the 
only  pursuit  that  pays  largely.  I  intend  to  go  in 
for  money." 


••  I  should  like  to  hear  your  ideas  on  that  sub- 
ject." 

•'  So  yuu  shall,  as  \vc  travel  up  to  town." 

"  You  accept  my  offer,  then  ':" 
"  Of  course  I  do.     I  am  delighted  to  have  so 
many  hours  in  your  company <     I  believe  1  can 

safely  say  I  haw  that  amount  of  skill  to  be  of 
Bervice  to  you.  One  begins  his  medical  experi- 
ence with  fractures.  They  are  the  pot  hooks  and 
bangers  of  surgery,  and  I  have  gone  that  far. 
Now  what  are  your  plans?" 

•'  My  plans  are  to  leave  this  early  to-morrow. 
so  as  to  rest  during  the  hot  hours  of  the  day,  and 
reach  Dublin  by  nightfall.     Why  do  you  smile?" 

"  I  smile  at  your  notion  of  climate  ;  but  1  never 
knew  any  man  who  had  been  once  in  Italy  able  to 
disabuse  himself  of  the  idea  that  there  were  three 
or  four  hours  every  summer  day  to  be  passed  with 
closed  shutters  and  iced  drinks." 

"  Well,  I  believe  I  was  thinking  of  a  fiercer  sun 
and  a  hotter  soil  than  these.  To  return  to  my 
project :  we  can  find  means  of  posting,  carriage 
and  horses,  in  the  village.     I  forget  its  name." 

"I'll  take  care  of  all  that.  At  what  hour  will 
you  start  ?" 

"I  should  say  by  six  or  seven.  I  shall  not 
sleep ;  and  I  shall  be  all  impatience  till  we  are 
away." 

"Well,  is  there  any  thing  else  to  be  thought 
of?" 

"There  is — that  is,  I  have  something  on  my 
mind,  and  I  am  debating  with  myself  how  far, 
on  a  half-hour's  acquaintance,  I  can  make  you  a 
partner  in  it." 

' '  I  can  not  help  you  by  my  advice.  I  can  only- 
say  that,  if  you  like  to  trust  me,  I'll  know  how  to 
respect  the  confidence." 

Walpole  looked  steadily  and  steadfastly  at  him, 
and  the  examination  seemed  to  satisfy  him,  for 
he  said,  "  I  will  trust  you,  not  that  the  matter  is 
a  secret  in  any  sense  that  involves  consequences  ; 
but  it  is  a  thing  that  needs  a  little  tact  and  dis- 
cretion, a  slight  exercise  of  a  light  hand,  which 
is  what  my  friend  Lockwood  fails  in.  Now  you 
could  do  it." 

"If  I  can,  I  will.     What  is  it?" 

"  Well,  the  matter  is  this.  I  have  written  a 
few  lines  here,  very  illegibly  and  badly,  as  you 
may  believe,  for  they  were  with  my  left  hand  ; 
and  besides  having  the  letter  conveyed  to  its  ad- 
dress, I  need  a  few  words  of  explanation." 

"The  Titian  girl,' muttered  Joe,  as  though 
thinking  aloud. 

"Why  do  you  say  so  ?" 

"Oh," it  was  easy  enough  to  see  her  greater 
anxiety  and  uneasiness  about  you.  There  was 
an  actual  Hash  of  jealousy  across  her  features 
when  Miss  Kearney  proposed  coining  up  to  see 
you." 

"And  was  this  remarked,  think  yon  ?" 

"Only  by  me.  /saw,  and  let  her  see  I  saw- 
it,  and  we  understood  each  other  from  that  mo- 
ment." 

"I  mustn't  let  you  mistake  me.  You  are  not 
to  suppose  that  there  is  any  thing  between  Made- 

moiselleKostalergi  andmyself.  I  knew  a  good  deal 

about  her  father,  and  there  were  familj  circum- 
stances in  which  I  was  once  able  to  be  of  use  ; 
and  I  wished  to  let  her  know  that  if  at  any  time 
she  desired  to  communicate  with  me,  1  could 
procure  an  address,  under  which  she  could  write 
with  freedom." 


LORD  RTLGOBBIN. 


"As  for  instance  :  '  J.  Atlee,  48  Old  Square, 
Trinity  College,  Dublin.'" 

"  Well,  I  did  not  think  of  that  at  the  moment," 
said  Walpole,  smiling.  "Now,"  continued  he, 
"though  I  have  written  all  this,  it  is  so  blotted 
and  disgraceful  generally — done  with  the  left 
hand,  and  while  in  great  pain — that  I  think  it 
would  he  as  well  not  to  send  the  letter,  but  simply 
a  message — ." 

Atlee  nodded,  andWalpole  went  on  :  "A  mes- 
sage to  say  that  I  was  wishing  to  write,  but  un- 
able ;  and  that  if  I  had  her  permission,  so  soon  as 
my  fingers  could  hold  a  pen,  to  finish — yes,  to  fin- 
ish that  communication  I  had  already  begun,  and 
if  she  felt  there  was  no  inconvenience  in  writing 
to  me,  under  cover  to  your  care,  I  should  pledge 
myself  tc  devote  all  my  zeal  and  my  best  services 
to  her  interests." 

"  In  fact,  I  am  to  lead  her  to  suppose  she 
ought  to  have  the  most  implicit  confidence  in 
you,  and  to  believe  in  me,  because  I  say  so." 

"I  do  not  exactly  see  that  these  are  my  in- 
structions to  you. " 

"Well,  you  certainly  want  to  write  to  her." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  do." 

"At  all  events,  you  want  her  to  write  to  you." 

"You  are  nearer  the  mark  now." 

"  That  ought  not  to  be  very  difficult  to  arrange. 
I'll  go  down  now  and  have  a  cup  of  tea,  and  I 
may,  I  hope,  come  up  and  see  you  again  before 
bed-time  ?"' 

"Wait  one  moment,"  cried  Walpole,  as  the 
other  was  about  to  leave  the  room.  "Do  you 
see  a  small  tray  on  that  table  yonder,  with  some 
trinkets  ?  Yes,  that  is  it.  Well,  will  you  do  me  the 
favor  to  choose  something  among  them  as  your 
fee  ?  Come,  come,  you  know  you  are  my  doctor 
now,  and  I  insist  on  this.  There's  nothing  of  any 
value  there,  and  you  will  have  no  misgivings." 

"Am  I  to  take  it  haphazard?"  asked  Atlee. 

' '  Whatever  you  like, "  said  the  other,  indolently. 

"I  have  selected  a  ring,"  said  Atlee,  as  he 
drew  it  on  his  finger. 

"Not  an  opal?" 

"Yes,  it  is  an  opal  with  brilliants  round  it," 

"  I'd  rather  you'd  taken  all  the  rest  than  that. 
Not  that  I  ever  wear  it,  but  somehow  it  has  a  bit 
of  memory  attached  to  it." 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Atlee,  gravely,  "you 
are  adding  immensely  to  the  value  I  desired  to 
see  in  it  ?  I  wanted  something  as  a  souvenir  of 
you — what  the  Germans  call  a  Denhnal,  and 
here  is  evidently  what  has  some  secret  clew  to 
your  affections.     It  was  not  an  old  love-token  ?" 

"No ;  or  I  should  certainly  not  part  with  it." 

"It  did  not  belong  to  a  friend  now  no  more?" 

"  Nor  that  either,"  said  he,  smiling  at  the  oth- 
er's persistent  curiosity. 

"Then,  if  it  be  neither  the  gift  of  an  old  love 
nor  a  lost  friend,  I'll  not  relinquish  it,"  cried  Joe. 

"Be  it  so,"  said  Walpole,  half  carelessly. 
"  Mine  was  a  mere  caprice,  after  all.  It  is  linked 
with  a  reminiscence — there's  the  whole  of  it ;  but 
if  you  care  for  it,  pray  keep  it," 

"  I  do  care  for  it,  and  I  will  keep  it." 

It  was  a  very  peculiar  smile  that  curled  Wal- 
pole's  lip  as  he  heard  this  speech,  and  there  was 
an  expression  in  his  eyes  that  seemed  to  say, 
What  manner  of  man  is  this,  what  sort  of  na- 
ture, new  and  strange  to  me,  is  he  made  of? 

"  By-by !"  said  Atlee,  carelessly  ;  and  he  stroll- 
ed away. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

IN    THE    GARDEN   AT   DUSK. 

When  Atlee  quitted  Walpole's  room  he  was 
far  too  full  of  donbt  and  speculation  to  wish  to 
join  the  company  in  the  drawing-room.  He  had 
need  of  time  to  collect  his  thoughts,  too,  and  ar- 
range his  plans.  This  sudden  departure  of  his 
would,  he  well  knew,  displease  Kearney.  It  would 
savor  of  a  degree  of  impertinence,  in  treating  their 
hospitality  so  cavalierly,  that  Dick  was  certain  to 
resent,  and  not  less  certain  to  attribute  to  a  tuft- 
hunting  weakness  on  Atlee's  part,  of  which  he  had 
frequently  declared  he  detected  signs  in  Joe's 
character. 

"Be  it  so.  I'll  only  say  you'll  not  see  me 
cultivate  '  swells'  for  the  pleasure  of  their  soci- 
ety, or  even  the  charms  of  their  cookery.  If  I 
turn  them  to  no  better  uses  than  display,  Master 
Dick,  you  may  sneer  freely  at  me.  I  have  long 
wanted  to  make  acquaintance  with  one  of  these 
fellows,  and  luck  has  now  given  me  the  chance. 
Let  us  see  if  I  know  how  to  profit  by  it."  And 
thus  muttering  to  himself,  he  took  his  way  to  the 
form-yard  to  find  a  messenger  to  dispatch  to  Kil- 
beggan  for  post-horses. 

The  fact  that  he  was  not  the  owner  of  a  half- 
crown  in  the  world  very  painfully  impressed  itself 
on  a  negotiation  which,  to  be  prompt,  should  be 
prepaid,  and  which  he  was  endeavoring  to  explain 
to  two  or  three  very  idle  but  very  incredulous  list- 
eners— not  one  of  whom  could  be  induced  to  ac- 
cept a  ten  miles'  tramp  of  a  drizzling  night  with- 
out the  prompting  of  a  tip  in  advance. 

"  It's  every  step  of  eight  miles,"  cried  one. 

"No,  but  it's  ten,"  asseverated  another,  with 
energy,  "  by  rayson  that  you  must  go  by  the  road. 
There's  nobody  would  venture  across  the  bog  in 
the  dark." 

"  Wid  five  shillings  in  my  hand — " 

"And  five  more  when  ye  come  back,"  con- 
tinued another,  who  was  terrified  at  the  low  esti- 
mate so  rashly  ventured. 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"If  one  had  even  a  shilling  or  two,  to  pay  for 
a  drink  when  lie  got  in  to  Eilbeggan  wet  through 
and  shivering — " 

The  speaker  was  not  permitted  to  finish  liis  ig- 
nominiously  low  proposal,  ami  a  low  growl  of  dis- 
approbation  Bmothered  his  words. 

"Do  yon  mean  to  tell  me."  said  Joe,  angrily, 
"that  there's  not  a  man  here  will  ste]>  over  to  the 

town  to  order  a  chaise  and  post-horses  ?" 

•"And  it'ver  honor  will  put  his  hand  in  his  pock- 
et, and  tempt  ns  with  a  couple  of  crown  pieces, 

there's  no  Baying  what  we  wouldn't  do,"  said  a 
little  bandy  old  fellow,  who  was  washing  his  face 
at  a  pump. 

'•And  are  crown  pieces  so  plentiful  with  you 
down  here  that  you  can  earn  them  so  easily  ?" 
-aid  Atlee,  with  a  sneer. 

"  Be  my  sowle,  yer  honor,  it's  thinkin'  that 
they're  not  so  asy  to  come  at  makes  us  a  hit  lazy 
this  evening,"  said  a  ragged  fellow,  with  a  grin, 
which  was  quickly  followed  by  a  hearty  laugh  from 
those  around  him. 

Something  that  sounded  like  a  titter  above  his 
head  made  Atlee  look  up,  and  there,  exactly  over 
where  he  stood,  was  Nina,  leaning  over  a  little 
stone  balcony  in  front  of  a  window,  an  amused 
witness  of  the  scene  beneath. 

"I  have  two  words  for  yourself," cried  he  to 
her,  in  Italian.  "Will  you  come  down  to  the 
garden  for  one  moment  ?" 

"Can  not  the  two  words  be  said  in  the  draw- 
ing-room ?"  asked  she,  half  saucily,  in  the  same 
language. 

"No:  they  can  not  be  said  in  the  drawing- 
room,"  continued  he,  sternly. 

"It's  dropping  rain.     I  should  get  wet." 

' "  Take  an  umbrella,  then,  but  come.  Mind  me, 
Signora  Nina,  I  am  the  bearer  of  a  message  for 
you.'' 

There  was  something  almost  disdainful  in  the 
toss  of  her  head  as  she  heard  these  words,  and 
she  hastily  retired  from  the  balcony  and  entered 
the  room. 

Atlee  watched  her,  by  no  means  certain  what 
her  gesture  might  portend.  Was  she  indignant 
with  him  for  the  liberty  he  had  taken  ?  or  was 
she  about  to  comply  with  his  request,  and  meet 
him  ?  He  knew  too  little  of  her  to  determine 
which  was  the  more  likely  ;  and  he  could  not  help 
feeling  that,  had  he  even  known  her  longer,  his 
doubt  might  have  been  just  as  great.  Her  mind, 
thought  he,  is  perhaps  like  my  own  ;  it  has  many 
turnings,  and  she's  never  very  certain  which  one 
of  them  she  will  follow.  Somehow,  this  imputed 
willfulness  gave  her,  to  his  eyes,  a  charm  scarcely 
second  to  that  of  her  exceeding  beauty.  And 
what  beauty  it  was  !  The  very  perfection  of  sym- 
metry in  every  feature  when  at  rest,  while  the  va- 
ried expressions  of  her  face  as  she  spoke,  or  smiled, 
or  listened,  imparted  a  fascination  which  only 
needed  the  charm  of  her  low  liijuid  voice  to  be 
irresistible. 

How  she  vulgarizes  that  pretty  girl,  her  cousin, 
by  mere  contrast !  What  subtile  essence  is  it, 
I  part  from  hair,  and  eyes,  and  skin,  that  spreads 
an  atmosphere  of  conquest  over  thesenatures?  and 
how  is  it  that  men  have  no  ascendencies  of  this 
sort  —  nothing  that  impart-,  to  their  superiority 
the  sense  that  worship  of  them  is  in  itself  an  ec- 
stasy ? 

'•Take  my  message  into  town,"  said  he,  to  a 
fellow  near,  "(111(1  you  -hall  have  a  sovereign  when 


you  come  back  with  the  horses;"  and  with  this 
he  strolled  away  across  a  little  paddock,  ami  en- 
tered the  garden.     It  was  a  large, ill-cultivated 

space,  more  orchard  than  garden,  w  iih  patches  of 
smooth  turf,  through  which  dall'odil-  and  lilies 
were  scattered,  and  little  clusters  of  carnation- 
occasionally  showed  where  Bower-beds  had  once 
existed.  "What  would  1  not  give,"  thought  doe. 
as  he  strolled  along  the  velvety  -ward,  over  which 
a  clear  moonlight  had  painted  the  forms  of  many 
a  straggling  branch — "what  would  I  not  give  to 
be  the  son  of  a  house  like  this,  with  an  old  and 
honored  name,  with  an  ancestry  strong  enough  to 
build  upon  for  future  pretensions,  and- then  with 
an  old  home,  peaceful,  tranquil,  and  unmolested, 
where,  as  in  such  a  spot  as  this,  one  might  dream 
of  great  things,  perhaps  more — might  achieve 
them!  What  books  would  I  not  write  !  What 
novels,  in  which,  fashioning  the  hero  out  of  my 
own  heart,  I  could  tell  scores  of  impressions  the 
world  has  made  upon  me  in  its  aspect  of  religion. 
or  of  politics,  or  of  society  !  What  essays  could 
I  not  compose  here — the  mind  elevated  by  that 
buoyancy  which  comes  of  the  consciousness  of 
being  free  for  a  great  effort !  Free  from  the  vul- 
gar interruptions  that  cling  to  poverty  like  a  gar- 
ment, free  from  the  paltry  cares  of  daily  Bubsist- 
ence,  free  from  the  damaging  incidents  of  a  doubt- 
ful position  and  a  station  that  must  be  continual- 
ly asserted.  That  one  disparagement,  perhaps, 
worst  of  all,"'  cried  he,  aloud  :  "how  is  a  man  to 
enjoy  his  estate  if  he  is  'put  upon  his  title'  every 
day  of  the  week?  One  might  as  well  be  a  French 
emperor,  and  go  every  spring  to  the  country  for 
a  character." 

"  What  shocking  indignity  is  this  you  are 
dreaming  of?"  said  a  very  soft  voice  near  him, 
and  turning,  he  saw  Nina,  who  was  moving  across 
the  grass,  with  her  dress  so  draped  as  to  show 
the  most  perfect  instep  and  ankle  with  a  very  un- 
guarded indifference. 

"This  is  very  damp  for  you;  shall  we  not 
come  out  into  the  walk  ?"  said  he. 

"It  is  very  damp,"  said  she,  quickly,  "but  I 
came  because  you  said  you  had  a  message  for  me  : 
is  this  true  ?" 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  deceive  you  ?"  said  he, 
with  a  sort  of  tender  reproaehfulness. 

"It  might  not  be  so  very  easy,  if  you  were  to 
try,"  re)  lied  she.  laughing. 

"That  is  not  the  most  gracious  way  to  answer 
me. " 

"Well,  I  don't  believe  we  came  here  to  pay 
compliments;  certainly  I  did  not,  and  my  feet 
arc-  very  wet  already — look  there  and  see  the  ruin 
of  a  'chaussure'I  shall  never  replace  in  this  dear 
land  of  coarse  leather  and  hobnails." 

As  she  spoke  she  showed  her  feet,  around 
which  her  bronzed  shoes  hung  limp  and  mis- 
shapen. 

••  Woidd  that  I  could  be  permitted  to  dry  them 
with  my  kisses,"  said  he,  as,  stooping,  he  wiped 
them  with  his  handkerchief,  but  so  deferentially 
and  so  respectfully 'as  though  the  homage  had 
been  tendered  to  a  princes-.  Nor  did  she  for  a 
moment  hesitate  to  accept  the  service. 

"There,  that  will  do,"  said  she,  haughtily. 
"Now  for  your  message. 

"  We  are  going  away,  mademoiselle,"  said  At- 
lee, with  a  melancholy  tone. 

•"And  wlio  are  '  We,'  Sir?" 

"By  'We,' mademoiselle,  I  meant  to  < 


48 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


Walpole  and  myself."  And  now  he  spoke  with 
the  irritation  of  one  who  had  felt  a  pull-up. 

"Ah,  indeed!"  said  she,  smiling,  and  showing 
her  pearly  teeth.  "  '  We'  meant  Mr.  Walpole  and 
Mr.  Atlee." 

' '  You  should  never  have  guessed  it  ?"  cried  he, 
in  question. 


he  confided  to  me  a  mission — a  very  delicate  and 
confidential  mission — such  an  office  as  one  does 
not  usually  depute  to  him  of  whose  fidelity  or 
good  faith  he  has  a  doubt,  not  to  speak  of  certain 
smaller  qualities,  such  as  tact  and  good  taste." 

"  Of  whose  possession  Mr.  Atlee  is  now  as- 
serting himself,"  said  she,  quietly. 


Never — certainly,"  was  her  cool  rejoinder.      I      He  grew  crimson  at  a  sarcasm  whose  impas- 


Well !  He  was  less  defiant,  or  mistrustful, 
or  whatever  be  the  name  for  it.  We  were  only 
friends  of  half  an  hour's  growth  when  he  pro- 
posed the  journey.  He  asked  me  to  accompany 
him  as  a  favor  ;  and  he  did  more,  mademoiselle : 


siveness  made  it  all  the  more  cutting. 

"My  mission  was  in  this  wise,  mademoiselle," 
said  he,  with  a  forced  calm  in  his  manner.  "I 
was  to  learn  from  Mademoiselle  Kostalergi  if  she 
should  desire  to  communicate  with  Mr.  Walpole 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


10 


touching  certain  Family  interests  in  which  his 
counsels  might  be  of  use  ;  and  in  this  event  I  was 
io  place  at  her  disposal  an  address  by  which  her 
Letters  should  reach  him." 

"No,  Sir."  said  she.  quietly,  '"you  have  total- 
ly mistaken  any  instructions  that  were  given  you. 
Mr.  Walpole  never  pretended  thai  1  had  written 
or  was  likely  to  write  to  him  ;  he  never  said  that 
he  was  in  any  way  concerned  in  family  questions 
that  pertained  t<>  me  :  least  of  all  did  he  presume 
to  Buppose  that  if  I  had  occasion  to  address  him 
by  letter.  I  should  do  so  undercover  to  another." 
'  ••  v,.ii  discredit  my  character  of  envoy,  then?" 
saiil  he,  smiling  easily. 

••Totally  and  completely,  Mr.  Atlee;  and  1 
only  wait  for  you  yourself  to  admit  that  I  am 
right,  to  hold  out  my  hand  to  you.  ami  say  let 
us  be  friends." 

"I'd  perjure  myself  twice  at  Buchaprice.  Now 
hand." 

'•  Not  so  fast — first  the  confession," said  she, 
with  a  taint  smile. 

••  Well,  onmy  honor," cried  he.  seriously,  "he 
told  me  he  hoped  you  might  write  to  him.  I  did 
not  clearly  understand  about  what,  hut  it  pointed 
to  some  matter  in  which  a  family  interest  was 
mixed  up,  and  that  you  might  like  your  commu- 
nication to  have  the  reserve  of  secrecy. " 

"All  this  is  hut.  a  modified  version  of  what  you 
were  to  disavow." 

••Well.  1  am  only  repeating  it  now  to  show 
you  how  far  I  am  going  to  perjure  myself." 

"  That  is.  you  see,  in  fact,  that  .Mr.  Walpole 
could  ne\er  have  presumed  to  give  you  such 
instructions — that  gentlemen  do  not  send  such 
messages  to  young  ladies — do  not  presume  to  say 
that  they  dare  do  so  :  and  last  of  all,  if  they  ever 
should  chance  upon  one  whose  nice  tact  and 
cleverness  would  have  fitted  him  to  he  the  bearer 
of  Mich  a  commission,  those  same  qualities  of 
tact  and  cleverness  would  have  saved  him  from 
undertaking  it.  That  is  what  you  see,  Mr.  Atlee, 
is  it  not  ?" 

"You  are  right.  I  see  it  all."  And  now  he 
seized  her  hand  and  kissed  it  as  though  he  had 
won  the  right  to  that  rapturous  enjoyment. 

She  drew  her  hand  away,  hut  so  slowly  and  so 
gently  as  to  convey  nothing  of  rebuke  or  displeas- 
ure. "And  so  you  are  going  away  ?"  said  she, 
softly. 

"Yes;  Walpole  lias  some  pressing  reason  to 
he  at  once  in  Dublin.  He  is  afraid  to  make  the 
journey  without  a  doctor  ;  hut  rather  than  risk 
delay  in  -ending  for  one,  he  is  willing  to  take  "<< 
as  hi-  body  surgeon,  and  I  have  accepted  the 
charge." 

The  franknc>s  with  which  he  said  this  seemed 
to  influence  her  in  his  favor,  and  she  said,  with  a 
tone  of  like  candor :  "  You  are  right.  His  fam- 
ily are  people  of  influence,  and  will  not  readily 
forget  mi.-!,  a  service." 

Though  he  winced  under  the  words,  and  show- 
ed that  it  was  not  exactly  the  mode  in  which  he 

wanted  his  courtesy  to  he  regarded,  Bhe  took  no 
account  of  the  passing  irritation,  but  went  on: 

••  If  you  fancy  you  know  something  about  me, 
Mr.  Atlee.  /  know  far  more  about  you.  Your 
"■hum.  Dick  Kearney,  has  been  so  outspoken  as  to 
his  friend  that  my  cousin  Kate  and  I  have  been 
accustomed  to  discus-  you  like  a  near  acquaint- 
ance—what am  I  saying? — 1  mean  like  an  old 
friend." 


"  I  am  very  grateful  tor  this  interest  :  hut  will 

you   kindly   say   what    i-    the    version    my    friend 

Dick  has  given  of  me ?  whal  arc  the  Lights  that 
have  fallen  upon  my  humble  character  ?" 

•'  Do  you  fancy  that  cither  of  us  have  time  a: 

this  moment  to  open  so  large  a  question  ?    Woul 
not  the  estimate  of  Mr.  Joseph  Atlee  he  another 

mode  of  discussing  the  times  we  live  in,  and  the 

young  gentlemen,  more  or  less  ambitious,  who 

want  to  influence  them  ?  would  not  the  question 
embrace  every  thin;;-,  from  the  difficulties  of  lie- 
land  to  the  puzzling  embarrassments  of  a  clever 

young  man  who  has  every  thing  in  his  favor  in 
life,  except  the  only  thing  that  makes  life  worth 
living  for  ?" 

••  You  mean  fortune — money?" 

"Of  course  1  mean  money.  What  is  so  power- 
less as  poverty?  Do  1  not  know  it — not  of  yes- 
terday, or  the  day  before,  hut  for  many  a  long 
year?  What  so  helpless,  what  so  jarring  totem? 
per,  so  dangerous  to  all  principle,  and  so  subver- 
sive of  all  dignity?  I  can  afford  to  say  these 
things,  and  you  can  afford  to  hear  them,  for  there 
is  a  sort  of  brotherhood  between  us.  We  claim 
the  same  land  for  our  origin.  Whatever  our 
birth-place,  we  are  both  Bohemians!" 

She  held  out  her  hand  as  she  spoke,  and  with 
such  an  air  of  cordiality  and  frankness  that  Joe 
caught  the  spirit  of  the  action  at  once,  and  bend- 
ing over,  pressed  his  lips  to  it,  as  he  said,  "I  seal 
the  bargain." 

"And  swear  to  it?" 

"  I  swear  to  it,"  cried  he. 

"  There,  that  is  enough.  Let  us  go  back,  or. 
rather,  let  me  go  back  alone.  I  will  tell  them 
I  have  seen  you,  and  heard  of  your  approaching 
departure." 


CHAPTEB  XYI. 

THE   TWO    "  KEARNEYS." 

A  visit  to  his  father  was  not  usually  one  of 
those  things  that  young  Kearney  either  specu- 
lated on  with  pleasure  beforehand,  or  much  en- 
joyed when  it  came.  Certain  measures  of  de- 
corum, and  some  still  more  pressing  necessities 
of  economy,  required  that  he  should  pass  some 
months  of  every  year  at  home  ;  but  they  were  al- 
ways seasons  looked  forward  to  with  a  mild  ter- 
ror, and,  when  the  time  drew  nigh,  met  with  a 
species  of  dogged  fierce  resolution  that  certainly 
did  not  serve  to  lighten  the  burden  of  the  inflic- 
tion;  and  though  Kate's  experience  of  this  tem- 
per wa-  not  varied  by  any  exceptions,  she  would 
still  go  on  looking  with  pleasure  for  the  time  of 
hi-  visit,  and  plotting  innumerable  little  Schemes 
for  enjoyment  while  he  should  remain.  The  first 
day   or   two  after   hi-    arrival    usually   went    over 

pleasantly  ei gh.     Dick  came  back  fullof-his 

town  Life  and  its  amusement-,  and  Kate  was 
quite  satisfied  to  accept  gnyety  at  second-hand. 

lie  had  BO  much  to  Bay  of  balls,  and  picnics,  and 

charming  rides  in'the  Phoenix,  of  garden-partieH 

in  the  beautiful  environs  of  Dublin,  or  i c  pre- 
tention- entertainments  that  took  the  shape  ol 
excursions  to  Bray  or  Killiney.  She  came  at 
la-t  to  learn  all  hi.-' fnend-  and  acquaintances  bj 
name,  and  never  confounded  the  -lately  beauties 

that    he   worshiped    afar    off  with    the    "awfully 

jolly  -ill-"  w bom  he  tlirted  with  quite  irresponsi- 
bly.     She  knew,  too,  all  about  his  male  compati- 


50 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


ions,  from  the  flash  young  fellow-commoner  from 
Downshire,  who  had  a  saddle-horse  and  a  mount- 
ed groom  waiting  for  him  every  day  after  morning 
lecture,  down  to  that  scampish  Joe  Atlee,  with 
whose  scrapes  and  eccentricities  he  filled  many 
an  idle  hour. 

Independently  of  her  gift  as  a  good  listener, 
Kate  would  very  willingly  have  heard  all  Dick's 
adventures  and  descriptions  not  only  twice  but 
tenth  told  :  just  as  the  child  listens  with  unwea- 
ried attention  to  the  fairy-tale  whose  end  he  is 
well  aware  of,  but  still  likes  the  little  detail  fall- 
ing fresh  upon  his  ear,  so  would  this  young  girl 
make  him  go  over  some  narrative  she  knew  by 
heart,  and  would  not  suffer  him  to  omit  the  slight- 
est incident  or  most  trifling  circumstance  that 
heightened  the  interest  of  the  story. 

As  to  Dick,  however,  the  dull  monotony  of  the 
daily  life,  the  small  and  vulgar  interests  of  the 
house  or  the  farm,  which  formed  the  only  topics, 
the  undergrowl  of  economy  that  ran  through 
every  conversation,  as  though  penuriousness  was 
the  great  object  of  existence — but,  perhaps,  more 
than  all  these  together,  the  early  hours — so  over- 
came him  that  he  at  first  became  low-spirited, 
and  then  sulky,  seldom  appearing  save  at  meal- 
times, and  certainly  contributing  little  to  the 
pleasure  of  the  meeting :  so  that  at  last,  though 
she  might  not  easily  have  been  brought  to  the 
confession,  Kate  Kearney  saw  the  time  of  Dick's 
departure  approach  without  regret,  and  was  act- 
ually glad  to  be  relieved  from  that  terror  of  a 
rupture  between  her  father  and  her  brother  of 
which  not  a  day  passed  without  a  menace. 

Like  all  men  who  aspire  to  something  in  Ire- 
land, Kearney  desired  to  see  his  son  a  barrister  : 
for  great  as  are  the  rewards  of  that  high  career, 
they  are  not  the  fascinations  which  appeal  most 
strongly  to  the  squirearchy,  who  love  to  think  that 
a  country  gentleman  may  know  a  little  law  and  be 
never  the  richer  for  it — may  have  acquired  a  pro- 
fession, and  yet  never  known  what  was  a  client  or 
what  a  fee. 

That  Kearney  of  Kilgobbin  Castle  should  be 
reduced  to  tramping  his  way  down  the  Bachelors' 
Walk  to  the  Four  Courts,  with  a  stuff  bag  car- 
ried behind  him,  was  not  to  be  thought  of;  but 
there  were  so  many  positions  in  life,  so  many  sit- 
uations for  which  that  gifted  creature  the  barrister 
of  six  years'  standing  was  alone  eligible,  that  Kear- 
ney was  very  anxious  his  son  should  be  qualified  to 
accept  that  £1000  or  £1800  a  year  which  a  gentle- 
man could  hold  without  any  shadow  upon  his  ca- 
pacity, or  the  slightest  reflection  on  his  industry. 

Dick  Kearney,  however,  had  not  only  been  liv- 
ing a  very  gay  life  in  town,  but,  to  avail  himself 
of  a  variety  of  those  flattering  attentions  which 
this  interested  world  bestows  by  preference  on 
men  of  some  pretension,  had  let  it  be  believed 
that  he  was  the  heir  to  a  very  considerable  estate, 
and,  by  great  probability,  also  to  a  title.  To 
have  admitted  that  he  thought  it  necessary  to  fol- 
low any  career  at  all  would  have  been  to  abdi- 
cate these  pretensions,  and  so  he  evaded  that 
question  of  the  law  in  all  discussions  with  his  fa- 
ther, sometimes  affecting  to  say  he  had  not  made 
up  his  mind,  or  that  he  had  scruples  of  conscience 
about  a  barrister's  calling,  or  that  he  doubted 
whether  the  Bar  of  Ireland  was  not,  like  most 
high  institutions,  going  to  be  abolished  by  Act 
of  Parliament,  and  all  the  litigation  of  the  land 
be  done  by  deputy  in  Westminster  Hall. 


On  the  morning  after  the  visitors  took  their 
departure  from  Kilgobbin,  old  Kearney,  who  us- 
ually relapsed  from  any  exercise  of  hospitality 
into  a  more  than  ordinary  amount  of  parsimony, 
sat  thinking  over  the  various  economies  by  which 
the  domestic  budget  could  be  squared,  and  after 
a  very  long  seance  with  old  Gill,  in  which  the 
question  of  raising  some  rents  and  diminishing 
certain  bounties  was  discussed,  he  sent  up  the 
steward  to  Mr.  llichard's  room  to  say  he  wanted 
to  speak  to  him. 

Dick  at  the  time  of  the  message  was  stretched 
full  length  on  a  sofa,  smoking  a  meerschaum,  and 
speculating  how  it  was  that  the  "swells"  took  to 
Joe  Atlee,  and  what  they  saw  in  that  confounded 
snob,  instead  of  himself.  Having  in  a  degree  sat- 
isfied himself  that  Atlee's  success  was  all  owing 
to  his  intense  and  outrageous  flattery,  he  was 
startled  from  his  reverie  by  the  servant's  entrance. 
"How  is  he  this  morning,  Tim?"  asked  he, 
with  a  knowing  look.  "Is  he  fierce — is  there 
any  thing  up — have  the  heifers  been  passing  the 
night  in  the  wheat,  or  has  any  one  come  over 
from  Moate  with  a  bill  ?" 

"No,  Sir,  none  of  them;  but  his  blood's  up 
about  something.  Ould  Gill  is  gone  down  the 
stair,  swearing  like  mad,  and  Miss  Kate  is  down 
the  road,  with  a  face  like  a  turkey-cock." 

"I  think  you'd  better  say  I  was  out,  Tim — 
that  you  couldn't  find  me  in  my  room." 

"I  daren't,  Sir.  He  saw  that  little  Skye  ter- 
rier of  yours  below,  and  he  said  to  me,  '  Mr.  Dick 
is  sure  to  be  at  home;  tell  him  I  want  him  im- 
mediately.'" 

"  But  if  I  had  a  bad  headache,  and  couldn't 
leave  my  bed,  wouldn't  that  be  excuse  enough  ?" 
"It  would  make  him  come  here.  And  if  I 
was  you,  Sir,  I'd  go  where  I  could  get  away  my- 
self, and  not  where  he  could  stay  as  long  as  he 
liked." 

"There's  something  in  that.  I'll  go,  Tim. 
Say  I'll  be  down  in  a  minute." 

Very  careful  to  attire  himself  in  the  humblest 
costume  of  his  wardrobe,  and  specially  mindful 
that  neither  studs  nor  watch-chain  should  offer 
offensive  matter  of  comment,  he  took  his  way  to- 
ward the  dreary  little  den,  which,  filled  with  old 
top-boots,  driving-whips,  garden  implements,  and 
fishing-tackle,  was  known  as  "the  lord's  study," 
but  whose  sole  literary  ornament  was  a  shelf  of 
antiquated  almanacs.  There  was  a  strange  grim- 
ness  about  his  father's  aspect  which  struck  young 
Kearney  as  he  crossed  the  threshold.  His  face 
wore  tlie  peculiar  sardonic  expression  of  one 
who  had  not  only  hit  upon  an  expedient,  but 
achieved  a  surprise,  as  he  held  an  open  letter 
in  one  hand  and  motioned  with  the  other  to  a 
seat. 

"  I've  been  waiting  till  these  people  were  gone, 
Dick — till  we  had  a  quiet  house  of  it — to  say  a 
few  words  to  you.     I  suppose  your  friend  Atlee 
is  not  coming  back  here  ?" 
"I  suppose  not,  Sir." 

"  I  don't  like  him,  Dick;  and  I'm  much  mis- 
taken if  he  is  a  good  fellow." 

"I  don't  think  he  is  actually  a  bad  fellow,  Sir. 
He  is  often  terribly  hard  up,  and  has  to  do  scores 
of  shifty  things,  but  I  never  found  him  out  in  any 
thing  dishonorable  or  false." 

"That's  a  matter  of  taste,  perhaps.  Maybe 
you  and  I  might  differ  about  what  was  honorable 
or  what  was  false.     At  all  events,  he  was  under 


I.OKD   KILGORBIN. 


our  roof  here,  and  if  those  nobs — or  swi-lls.  I  be- 
lieve you  call  them — wore  like  to  lie  of  use  to 
any  of  US,  we.  the  people  that  were  entertaining 
them,  were  the  first  to  he  thought  of;  hut  your 
pleasant  friend  thought  differently,  ami  made 
such  good  use  of  his  time  that  lie  cut  you  out  al- 
together, Dick — he  left  you  nowhere." 

••  Really,  Sir,  it  never  occurred  to  me  till  now 
to  take  that  view  of  the  situation." 

'•  Well,  take  that  view  of  it  now.  ami  see  how 
you'll  like  it !  _)/""  have  your  way  to  work  in  life 
as  well  as  Mr.  Atlee.  From  all  I  can  judge, 
you're  scarcely  as  well  calculated  to  do  it  as  lie 
is.  You  have  not  his  smartness,  you  have  not 
his  brains,  and  you  have  not  his  impudence — and 
faith.  I'm  much  mistaken  hut  it's  the  best  of  the 
three!" 

"  I  don't  perceive,  Sir.  that  we  are  necessarily 
jutted  against  each  other  at  all.'' 

"Don't  you?  Well,  so  much  the  worse  for 
you  if  you  don't  see  that  every  fellow  that  has 
nothing  in  the  world  is  the  rival  of  every  other  fel- 
low that's  in  the  same  plight.  For  every  one 
that  swims,  ten.  at  least,  sink." 

"Perhaps,  Sir,  to  begin,  I  never  fully  realized 
the  first  condition.  I  was  not  exactly  aware  that 
I  was  without  any  thing  in  the  world." 

••  Fm  coming  to  that,  if  you'll  have  a  little  pa- 
tience. Here  is  a  letter  from  Tom  M'Keown, 
of  Abbey  Street.  I  wrote  to  liini  about  raising 
a  few  hundreds  on  mortgage,  to  clear  off  some 
of  our  debts,  and  have  a  trifle  in  hand  for  drain- 
age and  to  buy  stock,  and  he  tells  me  that  there's 
no  use  in  going  to  any  of  the  money-lenders  so 
long  as  your  extravagance  continues  to  be  the 
talk  of  the  town.  Ay.  you  needn't  grow  red  nor 
frown  that  way.  The  letter  was  a  private  one  to 
myself,  and  Fm  only  telling  it  to  you  in  confi- 
dence. Hear  what  he  says:  'You  have  a  right 
to  make  your  son  a  fellow-commoner  if  you  like, 
and  he  has  a  right,  by  his  father's  own  showing, 
to  behave  like  a  man  of  fortune:  but  neither  of 
you  have  a  right  to  believe  that  men  who  advance 
money  will  accept  these  pretensions  as  good  se- 
curity, or  think  any  thing  hut  the  worse  of  you 
both  for  your  extravagance.'" 

"And  you  don't  mean  to  horsewhip  him,  Sir?" 
burst  out  Dick. 

"  Not,  at  any  rate,  till  I  pay  off  two  thousand 
pounds  that  I  owe  him,  and  two  years'  interest  at 
mx  per  cent.,  that  lie  ha-  Buffered  me  to  become 
his  debtor  for." 

"Lame  as  he  is,  I'll  kick  him  before  twenty- 
four  hour.-,  are  over." 

'•If  you  do,  hell  shoot  yon  like  a  dog.  and  it 
wouldn't  be  the  first  time  he  handled  a  pistol. 
Xo.  no.  Blaster  Dick,  Whether  for  better  or 
wor-".  I  can't  tell,  hut  the  world  is  not  what  it 
was  when  I  was  your  age.  There's  no  provok- 
ing a  man  to  a  duel  nowadays-,  nor  no  posting 
him  when  he  won't  light.  Whether  it's  your  for- 
tune is  damaged  or  your  feelings  hurt,  you  must 
look  to  the  law  to  lvdie--  you  :  and  to  take  your 
into  your  own  hand-  is  to  have  the  whole 

world  against  you." 
"And  tin-  insult  i-  then  to  be  submitted  to?" 
"It  is,  first  of  all.  to  he   ignored.     It-  the 

Bame  a-  if  you  never  heard  it.  Just  get  it  out  of 
ymir  head,  and  listen  to  what  he  Bays.  Tom 
M'Keown  is  one  of  the  keenest  fellow-  I  know  ; 
and  he  ha-  business  with  men  who  know  nol  only 
what's  doing  in  Downing  Street,  but  what's  going 


to  be  done  there.  Now  here's  two  things  that 
are  about  to  take  place:  one  is  the  same  a-dmie. 
for  it's  all  ready  prepared — the  taking  away  the 
landlord's  right,  ami  making  the  Stale  determine 
what  rent  the  tenant  -hall  pay,  and  how  lung  his 
tenure  will  he.  The  second  won't  come  lor  tWO 
Sessions  after,  bul  il  will  he  law  all  the  same. 
There's   to   be   no   primogeniture   class   at    all.  no 

email  on  land,  hut  a  subdivision,  like  in  America, 
and.  1  believe,  in  France" 

"  I  don't  believe  it.  Mr.  These  would  amount 
to  a  revolution." 

"  Well,  and  why  not  ?  Ain't  we  always 
through  a  sort  of  mild  revolution?  What's  par- 
liamentary government  hut  revolution,  weakened, 
if  you  like,  like  watered  grog,  hut  the  spirit  is 
there  all  the  same.  Don't  fancy  that,  bi 
you  can  give  it  a  hard  name,  you  can  destroy  it. 
But  hear  what  Tom  is  coming  to.  'Be  early," 
Says  he:  'take  time  by  the  forelock;  get  rid  of 
your  entail,  and  get  rid  of  your  land.  Don'i  wait 
till  the  Government  docs  both  for  you,  and  have 
to  accept  whatever  condition  the  law  will  cumber 
you  with,  but  be  before  them!  Get  your  son  to 
join  you  in  docking  the  entail;  petition  before 
the  court  for  a  sale,  yourself  or  somebody  for 
you;  and  wash  your  hands  clean  of  it  all.  It's 
bad  property,  in  a  very  ticklish  country.'  says 
Tom — and  he  dashes  the  words — 'bad  property, 
in  a  very  ticklish  country  ;  and,  if  you  take  my 
advice,  you'll  get  clear  of  both.'  You  shall  read 
it  all  yourself  by-and-by ;  I  am  only  giving  you 
the  substance  of  it,  and"  none  of  the  reasons. " 

"  This  is  a  question  for  very  grave  considera- 
tion, to  say  the  least  of  it.      It  is  a  bold  proposal." 

"So  it  is,  and  so  says  Tom  himself:  hut  he 
adds,  '  There's  no  time  to  be  lost;  for  once  it  gets 
about  how  Gladstone's  going  to  deal  with  land, 
and  what  Bright  has  in  his  head  for  eldest  SOUS, 
you  might  as  well  whistle  as  try  to  dispose  of 
that  property.'  To  he  sure,  he  says,"  added  he. 
after  a  pause — "he  says,  '  If  you  insist  on  hold- 
ing on,  if  you  cling  to  the  dirty  acres  because  they 
were  your  father's  and  your  great-grandfather's, 
and  if  you  think  that  being  Kearney  of  Kilgob- 
bin  is  a  sort  of  title,  in  the  name  of  Cod  stay 
where  you  are.  hut  keep  down  your  expenses. 
Give  up  some  of  your  useless  servants,  reduce 
your  saddle-horses'  —  my  saddle-horses,  Dick! 
•  Try  if  you  can  live  without  fox-hunting.' — Fox- 
hunting! 'Make  your  daughter  know  that  -he 
needn't  dress  like  a  duchess' — poor  Kitty'-  very 
like  a  duchess:  'and.  above  all.  persuade  your 
lazy,  idle,  and  very  self-sufficient  son  to  take  to 
some  respectable  line  of  life  to  gain  his  li\  Ulg.  I 
wouldn't  -ay  that  he  mightn't  lie  an  apothecary; 
but  if  he  liked  law  better  than  physic.  I  might  he 
able  to  do  something  for  him  in  my  own  office.'" 

"  Have  you  done.  Sir?"  said  Dick,  hastily,  as 
his   father   wiped    his   spectacles,  and    seemed    to 

prepare  for  another  heat. 

"  He  goes  on  td  Bay  that  he  always  requires 
one  hundred  and  ftftj  guineas  fee  with  a  young 
man  :  'but  we  are  old  friends,  Maurice  Kearney, 

-a\  -  h''.  '  and  we'll  make  it  pounds.'  " 

"  To  lit  me  to  be  an  attorney  j"  -aid  Dick,  ar- 
ticulating each  wind  with  a  slow  and  aim- 

age  determination. 

•■  Faith  !  it  would  have  been  well  for  us  if 

lone  of  the  family   had   been   an  attorney   before 

now.     We'd  never  have  gone  into   that  action 

about   the  mill-race,  nor  had  to  pay  those  heavy 


LOKD  KILGOBBIN. 


damages  for  leveling  Moore's  barn.  A  little 
law  would  have  saved  us  from  evicting  those 
blackguards  at  Mullenalick,  or  kicking  Mr.  Hall's 
bailiff  before  witnesses." 

To  arrest  his  father's  recollection  of  the  various 
occasions  on  which  his  illegality  had  betrayed  him 
into  loss  and  damage,  Dick  blurted  out,  "I'd 
rather  break  stones  on  the  road  than  I'd  be  an 
attorney. " 

"Well,  you'll  not  have  to  go  far  for  employ- 
ment, for  they're  just  laying  down  new  metal  this 
moment,  and  you  needn't  lose  time  over  it,"  said 
Kearney,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  to  show  that 
the  audience  was  over  and  the  conference  ended. 

"  There's  just  one  favor  I  would  ask,  Sir,"  said 
Dick,  with  his  hand  on  the  lock. 

"You  want  a  hammer,  I  suppose,"  said  his 
father,  with  a  grin — "  isn't  that  it?" 

With  something  that,  had  it  been  uttered  aloud, 
sounded  very  like  a  bitter  malediction,  Dick  rush- 
ed from  the  room,  slamming  the  door  violently 
after  him  as  he  went. 

"  That's  the  temper  that  helps  a  man  to  get  on 
in  life,"  said  the  old  man,  as  he  turned  once  more 
to  his  accounts,  and  set  to  work  to  see  where  he 
had  blundered  in  his  figures. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


DICKS    REVERIE. 


When  Dick  Kearney  left  his  father  he  walk- 
ed from  the  house,  and  not  knowing,  or  much 
caring,  in  what  direction  he  went,  turned  into  the 
garden.  It  was  a  wild,  neglected  sort  of  spot, 
more  orchard  than  garden,  with  fruit  trees  of 
great  size,  long  past  bearing,  and  close  under-wood 
in  places  that  barred  the  passage.  Here  and 
there  little  patches  of  cultivation  appeared,  some- 
times flowering  plants,  but  oftener  vegetables. 
One  long  alley,  with  tall  hedges  of  box,  had  been 
preserved,  which  led  to  a  little  mound  planted 
with  laurels  and  arbutus,  and  known  as  "  Laurel 
Hill ;"  here  a  little  rustic  summer-house  had  once 
stood,  and  still,  though  now  in  ruins,  showed 
where,  in  former  days,  people  came  to  taste  the 
fresh  breeze  above  the  tree-tops,  and  enjoy  the 
wide  range  of  a  view  that  stretched  to  the  Slieve- 
Bloom  Mountains,  nearly  thirty  miles  away. 

Young  Kearney  reached  this  spot,  and  sat  down, 
to  gaze  upon  a  scene  every  detail  of  which  was 
well  known  to  him,  but  of  which  he  was  utterly 
unconscious  as  he  looked.  "I  am  turned  out  to 
starve,"  cried  he  aloud,  as  though  there  was  a 
sense  of  relief  in  thus  proclaiming  his  sorrow  to 
the  winds.  "I  am  told  to  go  and  work  upon  the 
roads — to  live  by  my  daily  labor.  Treated  like  a 
gentleman  until  I  am  bound  to  that  condition  by 
every  tie  of  feeling  and  kindred,  and  then  bid  to 
know  myself  as  an  outcast.  I  have  not  even  Joe 
Atlee's  resource — I  have  not  imbibed  the  instincts 
of  the  lower  orders,  so  as  to  be  able  to  give  them 
back  to  them  in  fiction  or  in  song.  1  can  not 
either  idealize  rebellion,  or  make  treason  tuneful. 

"It  is  not  yet  a  week  since  that  same  Atlee 
envied  me  my  station  as  the  son  and  heir  to  this 
place,  and  owned  to  me  that  there  was  that  in 
the  sense  of  name  and  lineage  that  more  than 
balanced  personal  success,  and  here  I  am  now,  a 
beggar !  I  can  enlist,  however — blessings  on  the 
noble  career  that  ignores  character  and  defies  ca- 


pacity !  I  don't  know  that  I'll  bring  much  loyal- 
ty to  her  Majesty's  cause,  but  I'll  lend  her  the" aid 
of  as  broad  shoulders  and  tough  sinews  as  my 
neighbors."  And  here  his  voice  grew  louder  and 
harsher,  and  with  a  ring  of  defiance  in  it.  "And 
no  cutting  off  the  entail,  my  Lord  Kilgobbin  !  no 
escape  from  that  cruel  necessity  of  an  heir!  I  may 
carry  my  musket  in  the  ranks,  but  I'll  not  surren- 
der my  birthright ! " 

The  thought  that  he  had  at  length  determined 
on  the  path  he  should  follow  aroused  his  courage 
and  made  his  heart  lighter ;  and  then  there  was 
that  in  the  manner  he  was  vindicating  his  station 
and  his  claim  that  seemed  to  savor  of  heroism. 
He  began  to  fancy  his  comrades  regarding  him 
with  a  certain  deference,  and  treating  him  witli  a 
respect  that  recognized  his  condition.  "  I  know 
the  shame  my  father  will  feel  when  he  sees  to  what 
he  has  driven  me.  What  an  offense  to  his  love 
of  rank  and  station  to  behold  his  son  in  the  coarse 
uniform  of  a  private !  An  only  son  and  heir, 
too !  I  can  picture  to  myself  his  shock  as  he 
reads  the  letter  in  which  I  shall  say  good-by,  and 
then  turn  to  tell  my  sister  that  her  brother  is  a 
common  soldier,  and  in  this  way  lost  to  her  for- 
ever ! 

"And  what  is  it  all  about?  What  terrible 
things  have  I  done  ?  What  entanglements  have 
I  contracted  ?  Where  have  I  forged  ?  Whose 
name  have  I  stolen?  whose  daughter  seduced? 
What  is  laid  to  my  charge,  beyond  that  I  have 
lived  like  a  gentleman,  and  striven  to  eat  and  drink 
and  dress  like  one  ?  And  I'll  wager  my  life  that 
for  one  who  will  blame  him  there  will  be  ten  — 
no,  not  ten,  fifty — to  condemn  me.  I  had  a  kind, 
trustful,  affectionate  father,  restricting  himself  in 
scores  of  ways  to  give  me  my  education  among 
the  highest  class  of  my  contemporaries.  I  was 
largely  supplied  with  means,  indulged  in  every 
way,  and  if  I  turned  my  steps  toward  home,  wel- 
comed with  love  and  affection." 

"And  fearfully  spoiled  by  all  the  petting  he 
met  with,"  said  a  soft  voice,  leaning  over  his  shoul- 
der, while  a  pair  of  very  liquid  gray  eyes  gazed 
into  his  own. 

"  What,  Nina! — Mademoiselle  Nina,  I  mean," 
said  he ;   "have  you  been  long  there ?" 

"Long  enough  to  hear  you  make  a  very  piti- 
ful lamentation  over  a  condition  that  I,  in  my  ig- 
norance, used  to  believe  was  only  a  little  short  of 
Paradise." 

"You  fancied  that,  did  you  ?" 

"Yes,  I  did  so  fancy  it." 

"  Might  I  be  bold  enough  to  ask  from  what 
circumstance,  though  ?  I  entreat  you  to  tell  me, 
what  belongings  of  mine,  what  resources  of  lux- 
ury or  pleasure,  what  incident  of  my  daily  life, 
suggested  this  impression  of  yours  ?" 

"Perhaps,  as  a  matter  of  strict  reasoning,  I 
have  little  to  show  for  my  conviction,  but  if  you 
ask  me  why  I  thought  as  1  did,  it  was  simply  from 
contrasting  your  condition  with  my  own,  and  see- 
ing that  in  every  thing  where  my  lot  has  gloom 
and  darkness,  if  not  worse,  yours,  my  ungrateful 
cousin,  was  all  sunshine." 

"Let  us  see  a  little  of  this  sunshine,  Cousin 
Nina.  Sit  down  here  beside  me,  and  show  me,  I 
pray,  some  of  those  bright  tints  that  I  am  long- 
ing to  gaze  on." 

"There's  not  room  for  both  of  us  on  that 
bench." 

"Ample  room  ;  we  shall  sit  the  closer." 


LORD  KLLGOBBLN. 


"No,  Cousin  Dick:  give  me  your  arm  and 
we'll  take  a  stroll  together." 

"Which  way  shall  it  be?" 

"  Y"u  shall  choose,  cousin." 

"  If  I  have  tin1  choice,  then,  I'll  carry  you  off', 
Nina  :  tor  I'm  thinking  of  bidding  good-hy  to  tin' 
old  house  and  all  within  it." 

••  I  don't  think.  I'll  consent  that  tar."  said  she, 

smiling.     "  1  have  had  my  experience  of  what  it 
without  a  home,  or  something  very  near- 
ly that.     I'll  not  willingly  recall  the  sensation. 

But  what  has  put  sueh  gloomy  thoughts  in  your 
head?  Whut.orratherw  ho,  is  driving  you  to  this?" 
"My  father.  Nina,  my  father!" 
••This  is  past  my  comprehending." 

'•  I'll  make  it  very  intelligible.  .My  father,  by 
way  of  curbing  my  extravagance,  tells  me  I  must 
give  up  all  pretension  to  the  life  of  a  gentleman, 

and  go  into  an  office  as  a  clerk.  I  refuse.  He 
insi.-ts.  and  tells  me.  moreover,  a  number  of  little 
pleasant  traits  of  my  unfitness  to  do  anything,  so 
that  I  interrupt  him  by  hinting  that  I  might  pos- 
-ihly  break  stones  on  the  highway.  He  seizes 
the  project  with  avidity,  and  offers  to  supply  me 
with  a  hammer  for  my  work.  All  fact,  on  my 
honor!  I  am  neither  adding  to  nor  concealing. 
I  am  relating  what  occurred  little  more  than  an 
hour  ago.  and  I  have  forgotten  nothing  of  the  in- 
terview. He.  as  I  said,  offers  to  give  me  a  stone- 
hammer.  And  now  I  ask  you,  is  it  for  me  to  ac- 
cept this  generous  offer,  or  would  it  he  hetter  to 
wander  over  that  hog  yonder,  and  take  my  chance 
■  ■fa  deep  pool  or  the  bleak  world,  where  immer- 
sion and  death  are  just  as  sure,  though  a  little 
-lower  in  coming?" 

"  Have  you  told  Kate  of  this  ?" 

•"No.  1  have  not  seen  her.  I  don't  know, 
if  I  had  seen  her,  that  I  should  have  told  her. 
Xate  has  so  grown  to  believe  all  my  father's  ca- 
-  to  lie  absolute  wisdom  that  even  his  sud- 
den  e;u-;s  of  passion  seem  to  her  like  flashes  of 
•i  bright  intelligence,  too  quick  and  too  brilliant 
for  mere  reason.  She  could  give  me  no  comfort, 
no:-  counsel  either." 

"I  am  not  of  your  mind,"  said  she,  slowly. 
"  She  has  the  great  gift  of  what  people  so  mis- 
takingly  call  ronnnon-sense." 

"And  she'd  recommend  me,  perhaps,  not  to 
quarrel  with  my  father,  and  to  go  and  break  the 
stones." 

'•  Were  you  ever  in  love,  Cousin  Dick  ?"  asked 
she.  in  a  tone  every  accent  of  which  hetokened 
earnestness,  and  even  gravity. 

"Perhaps  I  might  say  never.  I  havespooned 
or  flirted,  or  whatever  the  name  of  it  might  he, 
hut  I  was  never  seriously  attached  to  one  girl, 
and  unable  to  think  of  any  thing  hut  her.  But 
what  has  your  question  to  do  with  this?" 

"Every  thing.  If  yon  really  loved  a  girl — 
that  is,  if  she  filled  every  comer  of  your  heart,  if 
-he  was  first  in  every  plan  and  project  of  your  life. 
not  alone  her  wishes  and  her  likings,  hut  her  very 
words  and  the  sound  of  her  voice — if  you  saw  her 
in  every  thing  that  was  beautiful  and  heard  her  in 
every  tone  that  delighted  yon  — if  to  be  moving  in 
the  air  she  breathed  was  ecstasy,  and  that  heaven 
itself  without  her  was  cheerless — if — " 

.  "  Oh,  don't  go  on,  Nina.     Nbneofthes* 

rfes  could  ever  he  mine.      I  have  no  nature  to  he 

moved  or  moulded  in  this  fashion.     I  might  he 

very  fond  of  a  girl,  hut  she'd  never  drive  me  mail 

if  she  left  me  tor  another." 


"  I  hope  she  may.  [hen.  if  it  he  with  such  false 

mone\  you  would  buy  her,"  said  she,  fiercely. 
"Do  you  know,"  added  she.  after  a  pause,  "  I 
was  almost  on  the  verge  of  saying,  go  and  break 
the  stones;  the '  me"tier'  is  not  much  beneath  you, 

after  all!" 

"  This  is  scarcely  civil,  mademoiselle  ;  see  w  hat 

my  candor  has  brought  upon  me  !" 

•'  I'.e  as  candid  as  you  like  upon  the  faults  of 

your  nature.     Tell  every  wickedness  thai  you 

have  done  or  dreamed  of.  hut  don't  own  to  cold- 
heartedness.      For  that  there  is  no  S\  mpathy  1" 

"Let  us  go  hack  a  hit.  then,"  said  he,  '•and 
let  us  suppose  that  I  did  love  in  the  same  fervent 
and  insane  manner  you  spoke  of,  what  and  how 
would  it  help  me  here?" 

"Of  course  it  would.  Of  all  the  ingenuity  that 
plotters  talk  of.  of  all  the  imagination  that  poets 
dream,  there  is  nothing  to  compare  with  love. 
To  gain  a  plodding  subsistence  a  man  will  do 
much.  To  win  the  girl  lie  loves,  to  make  her  his 
own,  he  will  do  every  thing;  he  will  strive,  and 
strain,  and  even  starve,  to  win  her.  Poverty  will 
have  nothing  mean  if  confronted  for  her,  hard- 
ship have  no  suffering  if  endured  for  her  sake. 
With  her  before  him,  all  the  world  shows  hut  one 
goal  :  without  her,  life  is  a  mere  dreary  task,  and 
himself  a  hired  laborer." 

"I  confess,  after  all  this,  that  I  don't  see  how- 
breaking  stones  would  be  more  palatable  to  me 
because  some  pretty  girl  that  I  was  fond  of  saw 
me  hammering  away  at  my  limestone!" 

"  If  you  could  have  loved  as  I  would  wish  you 
to  love,  your  career  had  never  fallen  to  this. 
The  heart  that  loved  would  have  stimulated 
the  head  that  thought.  Don't  fancy  that  people 
are  only  better  because  they  are  in  love,  but  they 
are  greater,  bolder,  brighter,  more  daring  in  dan- 
ger, and  more  read)-  in  even-  emergency.  So 
wonder-working  is  the  real  passion  that  even  in 
the  base  mockery  of  Love  men  have  risen  to  gen- 
ius. Look  what  it  made  Petrarch,  and  I  might 
say  Byron  too,  though  he  never  loved  worthy  of 
the  name." 

"And  how  came  you  to  know  all  this,  cousin 
mine  ?     I'm  really  curious  to  know  that." 

"I  was  reared  in  Italy,  Cousin  Dick,  and  I 
have  madea  deep  study  of  nature  through  French 
novels."  Now  there  was  a  laughing  devilry  in 
her  eye  as  she  said  this  that  terribly  puzzled'  the 
young  fellow,  for  just  at  the  very  moment  her 
enthusiasm  had  begun  to  stir  his  breast  her 
merry  mockery  wafted  it  away  as  with  a  storm- 
wiud. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  if  yon  were  serious,"  said  he, 
gravely. 

"Just  as  serious  as  you  were  when  you  spoke 
of  being  ruined." 

'•  I  was  so,  I  pledge  my  honor.  The  conver- 
sation I  reported  to  you  really  took  place;  and 
when  you  joined  me  I  was  gravely  deliberating 
with  myself  whether  I  should  take  a  header  into 
a  deep  pool  or  enlist  as  a  soldier." 

"Fie,  tie!  how  ignoble  all  that  is !  You  don't 
know  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  thing-one  can 
do  in  life.     Do  you  -peak  French  or  Italian?" 

"I  can  read  t Iii-iii.  Iml   not  freelj  ;   but  how  are 

they  to  help  me  ?" 

"You  shall  sec:  first  of  all,  let  me  be  your 
tutor.  We  -hall  take  two  hours,  three  if  you 
like,  every  morning.  Are  you  free  now  from  ull 
your  college  Btudies  ?" 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"  I  can  be  after  Wednesday  next.  I  ought  to 
go  up  for  my  term  examination." 

"Well,  do  so;  but  mind,  don't  bring  down 
Mr.  Atlee  with  you." 

"My  chum  is  no  favorite  of  yours?" 

"That's  as  it  may  be,"  said  she,  haughtily. 
"I  have  only  said  let  us  not  have  the  embar- 
rassment, or,  if  you  like  it,  the  pleasure  of  his 
company.  I'll  give  you  a  list  of  books  to  bring 
down,  and  my  life  be  on  it  but  my  course  of  study 
will  surpass  what  you  have  been  doing  at  Trinity. 
Is  it  agreed  ?" 

"  Give  me  till  to-morrow  to  think  of  it,  Nina." 

"That  does  not  sound  like  a  very  warm  ac- 
ceptance; but  be  it  so;  till  to-morrow." 

"Here  are  some  of  Kate's  dogs,"  cried  he,  an- 
grily. "Down,  Fan,  down!  I  say.  I'll  leave 
you  now  before  she  joins  us.  Mind,  not  a  word 
of  what  I  told  you."  And  without  another  word 
he  sprang  over  a  low  fence,  and  speedily  disap- 
peared in  the  copse  beyond  it. 

"  Wasn't  that  Dick  I  saw  making  his  escape?" 
cried  Kate,  as  she  came  up. 

"  Yes  ;  we  were  taking  a  walk  together,  and  he 
left  me  very  abruptly." 

' '  I  wish  I  had  not  spoiled  a  tete-a-tete, "  said 
Kate,  merrily. 

"It  is  no  great  mischief:  we  can  always  re- 
new it." 

"Dear  Nina,"  said  the  other,  caressingly,  as 
she  drew  her  arm  around  her — "  dear,  dear  Nina, 
do  not,  do  not,  I  beseech  you." 

"Don't  what,  child  ? — you  must  not  speak  rid- 
dles." 

"  Don't  make  that  poor  boy  in  love  with  you. 
You  yourself  told  me  you  could  save  him  from  it 
if  you  liked." 

"And  so  I  shall,  Kate,  if  you  don't  dictate  or 
order  me.  Leave  me  quite  to  myself  and  I  shall 
be  most  merciful." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

maurice  keaeney's  "study." 

Had  Maurice  Kearney  but  read  the  second 
sheet  of  his  correspondent's  letter,  it  is  more  than 
likely  that  Dick  had  not  taken  such  a  gloomy 
view  of  his  condition.  Mr.  M'Keown's  epistle 
continued  in  this  fashion  :  "  That  ought  to  do  for 
him,  Maurice,  or  my  name  ain't  Tom  M'Keown. 
It  is  not  that  he  is  any  worse  or  better  than  other 
young  fellows  of  his  own  stamp,  but  he  has  the 
greatest  scamp  in  Christendom  for  his  daily  asso- 
ciate. Atlee  is  deep  in  all  the  mischief  that  goes 
on  in  the  national  press.  I  believe  he  is  a  head- 
centre  of  the  Fenians,  and  I  know  he  has  a  cor- 
respondence with  the  French  socialists,  and  that 
Rights-of-labor-knot  of  vagabonds  who  meet  at 
Geneva.  Your  boy  is  not  too  wise  to  keep  him- 
self out  of  these  scrapes,  and  he  is  just  by  name 
and  station  of  consequence  enough  to  make  these 
fellows  make  up  to  and  flatter  him.  Give  him  a 
sound  fright,  then,  and  when  he  is  thoroughly 
alarmed  about  his  failure,  send  him  abroad  for 
a  short  tour :  let  him  go  study  at  Halle  or  Hei- 
delberg— any  thing,  in  short,  that  will  take  him 
away  from  Ireland,  and  break  off  his  intima- 
cy with  this  Atlee  and  his  companions.  While 
he  is  with  you  at  Kilgobbin,  don't  let  him  make 
acquaintance  with  those  radical  fellows  in  the 


country  towns.  Keep  him  down,  Maurice,  keep 
him  down ;  and  if  you  find  that  you  can  not  do 
this,  make  him  believe  that  you'll  be  one  day  lords 
of  Kilgobbin,  and  the  more  he  has  to  lose  the 
more  reluctant  he'll  be  to  risk  it.  If  he'd  take  to 
farming,  and  marry  some  decent  girl,  even  a  little 
beneath  him  in  life,  it  would  save  you  all  uneasi- 
ness ;  but  he  is  just  that  thing  now  that  brings 
all  the  misery  on  us  in  Ireland.  He  thinks  he's 
|  a  gentleman  because  he  can  do  nothing ;  and  to 
i  save  himself  from  the  disgrace  of  incapacity,  he'd 
like  to  be  a  rebel." 

If  Mr.  Tom  M'Keown's  reasonings  were  at 
times  somewhat  abstruse  and  hard  of  comprehen- 
sion to  his  friend  Kearney,  it  was  not  that  he  did 
not  bestow  on  them  due  thought  and  reflection ; 
and  over  this  private  and  strictly  confidential  page 
he  had  now  meditated  for  hours. 

"Bad  luck  to  me,"  cried  he  at  last,  "if  I  see 
what  he's  at !  If  I'm  to  tell  the  boy  he  is  ruined 
to-day,  and  to-morrow  to  announce  to  him  that 
he  is  a  lord  —  if  I'm  to  threaten  him  now  with 
poverty,  and  the  morning  after  I'm  to  send  him 
to  Halle,  or  Hell,  or  wherever  it  is — I'll  soon  be 
out  of  my  mind  myself  through  bare  confusion. 
As  to  having  him  '  down,'  he's  low  enough  ;  but 
so  shall  I  be,  too,  if  I  keep  him  there.  I'm  not 
used  to  seeing  my  house  uncomfortable,  and  I  can 
not  bear  it. " 

Such  were  some  of  his  reflections  over  his 
agent's  advice ;  and  it  may  be  imagined  that  the 
Machiavelian  Mr.  M'Keown  had  fallen  upon  a 
very  inept  pupil. 

It  must  be  owned  that  Maurice  Kearney  was 
somewhat  out  of  temper  with  his  son  even  before 
the  arrival  of  this  letter.  While  the  "swells," 
as  he  would  persist  in  calling  the  two  English  vis- 
itors, were  there,  Dick  took  no  trouble  about  them, 
nor,  to  all  seeming,  made  any  impression  on  them. 
As  Maurice  said,  "  He  let  Joe  Atlee  make  all  the 
running,  and,  signs  on  it!  Joe  Atlee  was  taken 
off  to  town  as  Walpole's  companion,  and  Dick  not 
so  much  as  thought  of.  Joe,  too,  did  the  honors 
of  the  house  as  if  it  was  his  own,  and  talked  to 
Lockwood  about  coming  down  for  the  partridge- 
shooting  as  if  he  was  the  head  of  the  family.  The 
fellow  was  a  bad  lot,  and  M'Keown  was  right  so 
far — the  less  Dick  saw  of  him  the  better." 

The  trouble  and  distress  these  reflections,  and 
others  like  them,  cost  him  would  more  than  have 
recompensed  Dick,  had  he  been  hard-hearted 
enough  to  desire  a  vengeance.  "  For  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  or  maybe  twenty  minutes,"  said  he,  "1 
can  be  as  angry  as  any  man  in  Europe,  and,  if  it 
was  required  of  me  during  that  time  to  do  any 
thing  desperate — downright  wicked — I  could  be 
bound  to  do  it ;  and,  what's  more,  I'd  stand  to  it 
afterward  if  it  cost  me  the  gallows.  But  as  for 
keeping  up  the  same  mind,  as  for  being  able  to 
say  to  myself  my  heart  is  as  hard  as  ever,  I'm 
just  as  much  bent  on  cruelty  as  I  was  yesterday 
— that's  clean  beyond  me ;  and  the  reason,  God 
help  me,  is  no  great  comfort  to  me,  after  all — for 
it's  just  this  :  that  when  I  do  a  hard  thing,  wheth- 
er distraining  a  creature  out  of  his  bit  of  ground, 
selling  a  widow's  pig,  or  fining  a  fellow  for  shoot- 
ing a  hare,  I  lose  my  appetite  and  have  no  heart 
for  my  meals ;  and  as  sure  as  I  go  to  sleep,  I 
dream  of  all  the  misfortunes  in  life  happening  to 
me,  and  my  guardian  angel  sitting  laughing  all 
the  while  and  saying  to  me,  'Didn't  you  bring  it 
on  yourself,  Maurice  Kearney  ?  couldn't  you  bear 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


a  little  rub  without  trying  to  make  a  calamity  of 
it?  Must  somebody  be  always  punished  when 
any  thing  goes  wrong  in  life?  .Make  up  your 
mind  to  have  >ix  troubles  every  day  of  your  life, 

and  Bee  how  jolly  you'll  he  the  day  yon  can  only 

count  five,  or  maybe  tour.'  " 

A-  Mr.  Kearney  sat  brooding  in  tins  wise,  Peter 
(Sill  made  his  entrance  into  the  Study  with  the 

formidable  monthly  lists  and  accounts,  whose  ex- 
amination constituted  a  veritable  doomsday  to  the 
unhappy  master. 
"Wouldn't  next  Saturday  do,  Peter ?"  asked 

Kearney,  in  a  tone  of  almost  entreaty. 

"  I'm  afther  ye  since  Tuesday  last,  and  1  don't 
think  I'll  he  able  to  go  on  much  longer." 

Now  as  Mr.  Gill  meant  by  this  speech  to  imply 
that  he  was  obliged  to  trust  entirely  to  his  mem- 
ory for  all  the  details  which  would  have  been  com- 
mitted to  writing  by  others,  and  to  a  notched 
stick  tor  the  manifold  dates  of  a  vast  variety  of 
events,  it  was  not  really  a  very  unfair  request  he 
had  made  for  a  peremptory  hearing. 

"  I  vow  to  the  Lord,"  sighed  out  Kearney,  "  I 
believe  I'm  the  hardest-worked  man  in  the  three 
kingdoms." 

••  Maybe  you  are."  muttered  Gill,  though  cer- 
tainly the  concurrence  scarcely  sounded  hearty, 
while  he  meanwhile  arranged  the  books. 

"  Oh,  I  know  well  enough  what  you  mean.  If 
a  man  doesn't  work  with  a  spade  or  follow  the 
plow,  you  won't  believe  that  he  works  at  all. 
lie  must  drive,  or  dig,  or  drain,  or  mow.  There's 
DO  labor  but  what  strains  a  man's  back,  and  makes 
him  weary  about  the  loins;  but  I'll  tell  you,  Pe- 
ter Gill,  that  it's  here" — and  he  touched  his  fore- 
head with  his  finger — "  it's  here  is  the  real  woi  k- 
shop.  It's  thinking  and  contriving;  setting  this 
against  that ;  doing  one  thing  that  another  may 
happen,  and  guessing  what  will  come  if  we  do 
this  ami  don't  do  that  ;  carrying  every  thing  in 
your  brain,  and,  whether  you  are  sitting  over  a 
glass  with  a  friend  or  taking  a  nap  after  dinner, 
thinking  away  all  the  time!  What  would  you 
call  that,  Peter  Gill— what  would  you  call  that  ?" 

"  .Madness,  begorra,  or  mighty  near  it !" 

"No:  it's  just  work — brain-work.  As  much 
above  mere  manual  labor  as  the  intellect,  the  fac- 
ulty that  raises  us  above  the  brutes,  is  above  the 
— the—" 

"Yes.''  said  Gill,  opening  the  large  volume, 
and  vaguely  passing  his  hand  over  a  page.  "  It's 
somewhere  there  about  the  Conacre!" 

"You're  little  better  than  a  beast!"  said 
Kearney,  angrily. 

"Maybe  1  am,  and  maybe  I'm  not.  Let  us 
finish  this  now  that  we're  about  it." 

And  so  saying,  he  deposited  his  other  books 
and  papers  on  the  table,  and  then  drew  from  his 

breast  pocket  a  somewhat  thick  roll  of  exceed- 
ingly dirty  hank-notes,  fastened  with  a  leather 
thong. 

"  I'm  glad  to  see  some  money  at  last,  Peter," 
cried    Kearney,  as  his  eye   caught  sight  of  the 

llote-.. 

"  Faix,  then,  it's  little  good  they'll  do  ye,"mut- 
tered  the  other,  gruffly. 

"What  d'ye  mean  by  that,  Sir?"  asked  he, 
angrily. 

"  Just  what  I  said,  my  lord,  the  divil  a  more 
nor  less,  and  that  the  money  you  see  here  is  no 
more  yours  nor  it  is  mine.  It  belongs  to  the 
land    it    came  from.     Ay,  ay,  stamp   away,  and 


go   red   in  the  face:    you   must   hear  the   truth, 

whether  you  like  it  or  no.     The  place  we're  ii\. 

ing  in  is  going  to  rack  and  rui it  of  sheer  bad 

treatment  There's  not  a  hedge  on  the  estate; 
there  isn't  a  -ate  that  could  he  called  a  gate;  the 

holes  the  | pie   li \ c  in  isn't  go. >d  enough  for 

badgers;  there's  no  water  for  the  mill  at   the 

cross-roads  ;    and  the  I.oeh  meadows  i-  drowned 
with  wet— we're  dragging  for  the  hay.  like 
weed!      And  you  think  you've  a  right  to   these' 
—and  he  actually  Bhftok  the  notes  at  him  — "  to 

go  and  squander  them  on  them  •  impedint' En- 
glishmen that  was  laughing  at  you:  Didn't  I  hear 
them  myself  about  the  table-cloth,  that  one  said 
was  the  sail  of  a  boat  ?" 

••  Will  you  hold  your  tongue?"  cried  Kearney. 
wild  with  passion. 

"  I  will  not  !  I'll  die  on  the  floore  but  I'll 
speak  my  mind." 

This  was  not  only  a  favorite  phrase  of  Mr. 
Gill's,  but  it  was  so  far  significant  that  it  always 
indicated  he  was  about  to  give  notice  to  leave 
— a  menace  on  his  part  of  no  unfrequent  occur- 
rence. 

"Yes,  going,  are  ye?"  asked  Kearney,  jeer- 
in  gly. 

"I  just  am;  and  I'm  come  to  give  up  the 
hooks,  and  to  get  my  receipts  and  my  charac — 
ter." 

"  It  won't  be  hard  to  give  the  last,  anyway," 
said  Kearney,  with  a  grin. 

".So  much  the  better.  It  will  save  your  hon- 
or much  writing,  with  all  that  you  have  to  do." 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  kick  vou  out  of  the  office, 
Peter  Gill  ?" 

"No,  my  lord,  I'm  going  quiet  and  peaceable. 
I'm  only  asking  my  rights." 

"  You're  bidding  hard  to  be  kicked  out,  you 
are. " 

"Am  I  to  leave  them  here,  or  will  your  hon- 
or go  over  the  books  with  me  ?" 

"  Leave  the  notes,  Sir,  and  go  to  the  devil." 

"  1  will,  my  lord  ;  and  one  comfort  at  least 
I'll  have — it  won't  he  harder  to  put  up  with  his 
temper." 

Mr.  Gill's  head  barely  escaped  the  heavy  ac- 
count-book which  struck  the  door  above  him  as 
he  escaped  from  the  room,  and  Maurice  Kearney 
sat  back  in  his  chair  and  grasped  the  arms  of  it 
like  one  threatened  with  a  fit. 

"  Where's  Miss  Kitty — where's  my  daughter  ?" 
cried  he  aloud,  as  though  there  was  some  one 
within  hearing.  "Taking  the  dogs  a  walk,  I'll 
he  bound,"  muttered  he,  "or  gone  to  see  some- 
body's  child  with  the  measles,  devil  fear  her! 
She  has  plenty  on  her  hands  to  do  any  where  hut 
at  home.  The  place  might  be  going  to  rack  and 
'  ruin  for  her,  if  there  was  only  a  young  colt  to  look 
at.  en-  a  new  litter  of  pigs  !  Anil  so  you  think  to 
frighten  me,  Peter  Gill !  You've  been  doing  the 
same  thing  every  Easter,  and  every  harvest,  these 

five-and-twenty  years !  I  can  only  say  I  wish 
you  had  kept  your  threat  long  ago.  and  the  prop- 
erty wouldn't  have  as  many  tumble-down  cabins 
and  ruined  fences  88  it  has  now,  and  my  rent- 
roll,  too,  wouldn't  have  been  the  worse.  I  don't 
believe  there's  a  man  in  Ireland  more  cruelly 
robbed  than  myself.     There  isn't  an  estate  in  the 

county  has  not  risen  in  value  excepl  my  own ! 
There's  not  a   landed  gentleman  hasn't  laid  by 

money  in  the  barony  Imt  myself,  and  if  you  were 

to  believe  the  newspapers,  I'm  the  hardest  land- 


5G 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


lord  in  the  province  of  Leinster.  Is  that  Mickey 
Doolan,  there  ?  Mickey  !"  cried  he,  opening  the 
window,  "did  you  see  Miss  Kearney  any  where 
about  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  lord.  I  see  her  coming  up  the  Bog 
road  with  Miss  O'Shea." 

"The  worse  luck  mine,"  muttered  he,  as  he 
closed  the  window  and  leaned  his  head  on  his 
hand. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

AN  UNWELCOME  VISIT. 

If  Maurice  Kearney  had  been  put  to  the  ques- 
tion, he  could  not  have  concealed  the  fact,  that 
the  human  being  he  most  feared  and  dreaded  in 
life  was  his  neighbor  Miss  Betty  O'Shea. 

With  two  years  of  seniority  over  him,  Miss 
Betty  had  bullied  him  as  a  child,  snubbed  him  as 
a  youth,  and  opposed  and  sneered  at  him  ever  aft- 
er ;  and  to  such  an  extent  did  her  influence  over 
his  character  extend,  according  to  his  own  belief, 
that  there  was  not  a  single  good  trait  of  his  na- 
ture she  had  not  thwarted  by  ridicule,  nor  a  sin- 
gle evil  temptation  to  which  he  had  yielded  that 
had  not  come  out  of  sheer  opposition  to  that  lady's 
dictation. 

Malevolent  people,  indeed,  had  said  that  Mau- 
rice Kearney  had  once  had  matrimonial  designs 
on  Miss  Betty,  or,  rather,  on  that  snug  place  and 
nice  property  called  "  O'Shea's  Barn,"  of  which 
>]\e  was  sole  heiress;  but  he  most  stoutly  de- 
clared this  story  to  be  groundless,  and  in  a  for- 
cible manner  asseverated  that  had  he  been  Rob- 
inson Crusoe  and  Miss  Betty  the  only  inhabitant 
of  the  island  with  him,  he  would  have  lived  and 
died  in  celibacy  rather  than  have  contracted  clear- 
er ties. 

Miss  Betty,  to  give  her  the  name  by  which  she 
was  best  known,  was  no  miracle  of  either  tact  or 
amiability,  but  she  had  certain  qualities  that 
could  not  be  disparaged.  She  was  a  strict  Cath- 
olic, charitable,  in  her  own  peculiar  and  imperi- 


ous way,  to  the  poor,  very  desirous  to  be  strictly 
just  and  honest,  and  such  a  sure  foe  to  every 
thing  that  she  thought  pretension  or  humbug  of 
any  kind — which  meant  any  thing  that  did  not 
square  with  her  own  habits — that  she  was  perfect- 
ly intolerable  to  all  who  did  not  accept  herself  and 
her  own  mode  of  life  as  a  model  and  an  example. 

Tims,  a  stout-bodied  copper  urn  on  the  tea-ta- 
ble, a  very  uncouth  jaunting-car,  driven  by  an  old 
man,  whose  only  livery  was  a  cockade,  some  very 
muddy  port  as  a  dinner  wine,  and  whisky-punch 
afterward  on  the  brown  mahogany,  were  so  many 
articles  of  belief  with  her,  to  dissent  from  any  of 
which  was  a  downright  heresy. 

Thus,  after  Nina  arrived  at  the  Castle,  the  ap- 
pearance of  napkins  palpably  affected  her  constitu- 
tion; with  the  advent  of  finger-glasses  she  ceased 
her  visits,  and  bluntly  declined  all  invitations  to 
dinner.  That  coffee  and  some  indescribable  liber- 
ties would  follow,  as  post-prandial  excesses,  she 
secretly  imparted  to  Kate  Kearney,  in  a  note, 
which  concluded  with  the  assurance  that  when 
the  day  of  these  enormities  arrived,  O'Shea's  Barn 
would  be  open  to  her  as  a  refuge  and  a  sanctuary  ; 
;  "but  not,"  added  she,  "  with  your  cousin,  for  I'll 
!  not  let  the  hussy  cross  my  doors." 

For  months  now  this  strict  quarantine  had  last- 
ed, and  except  for  the  interchange  of  some  brief 
j  and  very  uninteresting  notes,  all  intimacy  had 
ceased  between  the  two  houses — a  circumstance, 
I  am  loath  to  own,  which  was  most  ungallantly 
recorded  every  day  after  dinner  by  old  Kearney, 
who  drank,  "Miss  Betty's  health,  and  long  ab- 
sence to  her."  It  was,  then,  with  no  small  aston- 
ishment Kate  was  overtaken  in  the  avenue  by  Miss 
Betty  on  her  old  chestnut  mare  Judy,  a  small 
bog-boy  mounted  on  the  croup  behind,  to  act  as 
groom  :  for  in  this  way  Paddy  Walshe  was  ac- 
customed to  travel,  without  the  slightest  con- 
sciousness that  he  was  not  in  strict  conformity 
with  the  ways  of  Rotten  Row  and  the  "  Bois." 

That  there  was  nothing  "stuck-up" or  preten- 
tious about  this  mode  of  being  accompanied  by 
one's  groom — a  proposition  scarcely  assailable — 
was  Miss  Betty's  declaration,  delivered  in  a  sort 
of  challenge  to  the  world.  Indeed,  certain  tickle- 
some  tendencies  in  Judy,  particularly  when  touch- 
ed with  the  heel,  seemed  to  offer  the  strongest 
protest  against  the  practice  ;  for  whenever  pushed 
to  any  increase  of  speed,  or  admonished  in  any 
way,  the  beast  usually  responded  by  a  hoist  of 
the  haunches,  which  invariably  compelled  Paddy 
to  clasp  his  mistress  round  the  waist  for  safety — 
a  situation  which,  however  repugnant  to  maiden 
bashfulness,  time,  and  perhaps  necessity,  had  rec- 
onciled her  to.  At  all  events,  poor  Paddy's  ter- 
ror would  have  been  the  amplest  refutation  of 
scandal,  while  the  stern  immobility  of  Miss  Bet- 
ty during  the  embrace  woidd  have  silenced  even 
malevolence. 

On  the  present  occasion,  a  sharp  canter  of  sev- 
eral miles  had  reduced  Judy  to  a  very  quiet  and 
decorous  pace,  so  that  Paddy  and  his  mistress  sat 
almost  back  to  back  —  a  combination  that  only 
long  habit  enabled  Kate  to  witness  without  laugh- 
ing. 

"Are  you  alone  up  at  the  Castle,  dear?"  asked 
Miss  Betty,  as  she  rode  along  at  her  side;  "or 
have  you  the  house  full  of  what  the  papers  call 
'  distinguished  company  ?' " 

"  We  are  quite  alone,  godmother.  My  broth- 
er is  with  us,  but  we  have  no  strangers." 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"  I'm  glad  of  it.  I've  come  over  to  'have  it 
out'  with  your  father,  and  it's  pleasant  to  know 
we  shall  be  to  ourselves." 

Now,  as  this  announcement  of  having  "  it  out" 
conveyed  to  Kate's  mind  nothing  short  of  an  open 
declaration  of  war.  a  day  of  reckoning  on  which 
\ I i - s  O'Shea  would  come  prepared  with  a  full  in- 
dictment, and  a  resolution  to  prosecute  to  convic- 
tion, the  poor  girl  shuddered  at  a  prospect  so  cer- 
tain to  end  in  calamity. 

••  Papa  is  very  far  from  well,  godmother,"  said 
-he.  ill  a  mild  way. 

"So  they  tell  me  in  the  town."  said  the  other, 

snappishly.     "His  brother  magistrates  said  that 

the  day  he  came  in.  about  that  supposed  attack — 
the  memorable  search  for  arms — " 

"Supposed  attack  !  hut.  godmother,  pray  don't 
imagine  we  had  invented  all  that.  I  think 
yon  know  me  well  enough  and  long  enough  to 
know— " 

"To  know  that  you  would  not  have  had  a 
young  scam])  of  a  Castle  aid-de-camp  on  a  visit 
during  your  father's  absence,  not  to  say  any  thing 
about  amusing  your  English  visitor  by  shooting 
down  your  own  tenantry." 

"Will  you  listen  to  me  for  five  minutes?" 

'•No.  not  for  three." 

"Two,  then  —  one  even  —  one  minute,  god- 
mother, will  convince  you  how  you  wrong  me." 

"I  won't  give  you  that.  1  didn't  come  over 
about  you  nor  your  affairs.  When  the  father 
makes  a  fool  of  himself,  why  wouldn't  the  daugh- 
ter? The  whole  country  is  laughing  at  him. 
Hi-  lordship,  indeed:  a  ruined  estate  and  a  ten- 
antry in  ra;rs  ;  and  the  only  remedy,  as  Peter  (Jill 
tells  me,  raising  the  rents — raising  the  rents  where 
every  one  is  a  pauper !" 

"What  would  you  have  him  do,  Miss  <  ►'Shea?" 
said  Kate,  almost  angrily. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I'd  have  him  do.  I'd  have 
him  rise  of  a  morning  before  nine  o'clock,  and  he 
our  with  his  laborers  at  daybreak.  I'd  haver  him 
reform  a  whole  lazy  household  of  blackguards, 
good  for  nothing  but  waste  and  wickedness.  I'd 
have  him  apprentice  your  brother  to  a  decent 
trade  or  a  u'ght  business.  I'd  have  him  declare 
he'd  kick  the  first  man  that  called  him  'My  lord;' 
and  for  yourself — well,  it's  no  matter — " 

"  Yes,  hut  it  is,  godmother,  a  great  matter  to 
me  at  least.     What  about  myself?  ' 

"Well,  I  don't  wish  to  speak  of  it,  hut  it  just 
dropped  out  of  my  lips  by  accident:  and  perhaps, 
though  not  pleasant  to  talk  about,  it's  as  well  it 
iid  and  done  with.  I  meant  to  tell  your 
father  that  it  must  he  all  over  between  you  and 
my  nephew  Gorman;  that  I  won't  have  him  hack 
here  on  leave,  as  1  intended.  I  know  it  didn't  go 
far,  dear.  There  was  none  of  what  they  call  love 
in  the  case.  You  would  probably  have,  liked  one 
another  well  enough  at  last  ;  hut  I  won't  have  it, 
and  it's  better  we  came  to  the  right  understand- 
ing at  once." 

"  Soar  curb-chain  i-  loose,  godmother,"  said 
the  girl,  who  now.  pale  a-  death  and  trembling 
all  over,  advanced  to  fasten  the  link. 

"  I  declare  to  the  Lord,  he's  asleep !"  said  Miss 
Betty,  as  the  wearied  head  of  her  page  dropped 
heavily  on  her  shoulder.  '"Take  the  curb  oil'. 
dear,  or  I  may  lose  it.  Put  it  in  your  pocket  for 
me,  Kate;   that  is,  if  you  wear  a  pocket." 

"  Of  course  I  do,  godmother.  I  carry  very 
stout  keys  in  it,  too.     Look  at  these." 


"  Ay.  ay.  I  liked  all  that,  once  on  a  time,  well 
enough,  and  used  to  think  you'd  be  a  good  thrifty 

wife  for  a  poor  man  ;    hut  with  the  viscount  your 
father,  and  the  young  princess  your  first   COUBtn, 

and  the  devil  knows  what  of  your  line  brother,  I 

believe  the  BooUer  we  part  good  fi  tends  the  better; 
Not  but  if  you  like  my  plan  for  yon,  I'll  bej 

ready  as  ever  to  aid  you." 

"  I  have  not  heard  the  plan  yet,"  said  Kate, 
faintly. 

"Just  a  nunnery,  then  — no  more  nor  less  than 
that.  The 'Sacred  Heart'  at  Namur,  or  the  Sis- 
ters of  .Mercy  here  at  home  in  Bagot  Street,  I  he- 
lieve,  if  you  like  better — eh?" 

"It  is  soon  to  he  able  to  make  up  one's  mind 
on  such  a  point.  1  want  a  little  time  for  this, 
godmother." 

"  You  would  not  want  time  if  your  heart  were 
in  a  holy  work.  Kate  Kearney.  It's  little  time 
you'd  he  asking,  if  I  said  will  you  have  Gorman 

o'shea  f,,r  a  husband?" 

"There  is  such  a  thing  as  insult.  Miss  I  ►'Shea, 
and  no  amount  of  long  intimacy  can  license 
that." 

"I  ask  your  pardon,  godchild.  I  wish  you 
could  know  how  sorry  I  feel." 

'"  Say  no  more,  godmother,  say  no  more,  I  he- 
seech  you,"  cried  Kate,  and  her  tears  now  gush- 
ed forth,  and  relieved  her  almost  bursting  heart. 
'•  I'll  take  this  short  path  through  the  shrubbery, 
and  he  at  the  door  before  you,"  cried  she,  rush- 
ing away  ;  while  Miss  Hetty,  with  a  sharp  touch 
of  the  spur,  provoked  such  a  plunge  as  effectual- 
ly awoke  Paddy,  and  apprised  him  that  his  du- 
ties as  groom  were  soon  to  he  in  request. 

While  earnestly  assuring  him  that  some 
changes  in  his  diet  should  he  speedily  adopted 
against  somnolency.  Miss  Betty  rode  briskly  on, 
and  reached  the  hall  door. 

"I  told  you  I  should  he  first,  godmother," 
said  the  girl;  and  the  pleasant  ring  of  her  voice 
showed  she  had  regained  lea-  spirits,  or  at  leasl 
such  self-control  as  enabled  her  to  suppress  her 
sorrow. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


A    DIUIKSTIC    DISCUSSION. 


It  is  a  not  infrequent  distress  in  small  house- 
holds, especially  when  some  miles  from  a  mar- 
ket-town, to  make  adequate  preparation  for  an 
unexpected  guest  at  dinner;  hut  even  this  is  a 
very  inferior  difficulty  to  that  experienced  by 
those  who  have  to  older  the  repast  in  conformity 
with    certain   rigid   notions  of  a   guest  who  will 

criticise  the  smallest  deviation   from   the  mosl 

bumble  standard,  and  actually  rebuke  the  slight- 
est  pretension  to  delicacy  of  food  or  elegance  of 

table  equipage. 

No  sooner,  then,  had  Kate  learned  that   Misfi 

(  f.shea  was  to  remain  for  dinner,  than  she  imme- 
diately set  herself  to  think  over  all  the  possible 

reductions  that  might  he  made  in  the  fire,  and 

all  the  plainness  and  simplicity  that  could  be  im 

parted   to   the  BeiTice  of  the   meal. 

Napkins  had  not  been  the  sole  reform  I  I 

ed  by  the  Greek  cousin.  She  had  introduced 
flowers  on  the  table,  and  so  artfully  had  she  deck- 
ed out  the  board  with  fruit  and  ornamental  plant-, 
that  she  hail  succeeded  in  effecting  by  artifice 
what  would  have  been  an  egregious  failure  if  more 


LORD  K1LGOBBIN. 


openly  attempted — the  service  of  the  dishes,  one  I 
by  one,  to  the  guests,  without  any  being  placed 
oil  the  table.  These,  with  finger-glasses,  she  had 
already  achieved,  nor  had  she  in  the  recesses  of 
her  heart  given  up  the  hope  of  seeing  the  day 
that  her  uncle  would  rise  from  the  table  as  she 
did,  give  her  his  arm  to  the  drawing-room,  and 
bow  profoundly  as  he  left  her.  Of  the  inestima- 
ble advantages,  social,  intellectual,  and  moral,  of 
this  system,  she  had  indeed  been  cautious  to  hold 
forth  ;  for,  like  a  great  reformer,  she  was  satis- 
fied to  leave  her  improvements  to  the  slow  test 
of  time,  "  educating  her  public,"  as  a  great  au- 
thority has  called  it,  while  she  bided  the  result 
in  patience. 

Indeed,  as  poor  Maurice  Kearney  was  not  to  be 
indulged  with  the  luxury  of  whisky-punch  during 
his  dinner,  it  was  not  easy  to  reply  to  his  ques- 
tion, "When  am  I  to  have  my  tumbler?"  as 
though  he  evidently  believed  the  aforesaid  ' '  tum- 
bler" was  an  institution  that  could  not  be  abro- 
gated or  omitted  altogether. 

Coffee  in  the  drawing-room  was  only  a  half 
success  so  long  as  the  gentlemen  sat  over  their 
wine  ;  and  as  for  the  daily  cigarette  Nina  smoked 
with  it,  Kate,  in  her  simplicity,  believed  it  was 
only  done  as  a  sort  of  protest  at  being  deserted  by  : 
those  unnatural  protectors  who  preferred  poteen 
to  ladies. 

It  was.  therefore,  in  no  small  perturbation  of  j 
mind  that  Kate  rushed  to  her  cousin's  room  with 
the  awful  tidings  that  Miss  Betty  had  arrived  and 
intended  to  remain  for  dinner. 

"Do  you  mean  the  odious  woman  with  the 
boy  and  bandbox  behind  her  on  horseback?"  asked 
Nina,  superciliously. 

"Yes,  she  always  travels  in  that  fashion  ;  she 
is  odd  and  eccentric  in  scores  of  things,  but  a 
fine-hearted,  honest  woman,  generous  to  the  poor, 
and  true  to  her  friends." 

"  I  don't  care  for  her  moral  qualities,  but  I  do 
bargain  for  a  little  outward  decency,  and  some 
respect  for  the  world's  opinion." 

"  You  will  like  her,  Nina,  when  you  know  her." 

"I  shall  profit  by  the  warning.  I'll  take  care 
not  to  know  her." 

"She  is  one  of  the  oldest,  I  believe  the  oldest, 
friend  our  family  has  in  the  world." 

' '  What  a  sad  confession,  child !  but  I  have 
always  deplored  longevity." 

' '  Don't  be  supercilious  or  sarcastic,  Nina,  but 
help  me  with  your  own  good  sense  and  wise  ad- 
vice. She  has  not  come  over  in  the  best  of  hu- 
mors. She  has,  or  fancies  she  has,  some  differ- 
ence to  settle  with  papa.  They  seldom  meet 
without  a  quarrel,  and  I  fear  this  occasion  is  to 
be  no  exception  ;  so  do  aid  me  to  get  things  over 
pleasantly,  if  it  be  possible." 

"She  snubbed  me  the  only  time  I  met  her.  I 
tried  to  help  her  oft'  with  her  bonnet,  and,  unfor- 
tunately, I  displaced,  if  I  did  not  actually  re- 
move, her  wig,  and  she  muttered  something 
'  about  a  rope-dancer  not  being  a  dextrous  lady's- 
maid.'" 

"  Oh,  Nina,  surely  you  do  not  mean — " 

"  Not  that  I  was  exactly  a  rope-dancer,  Kate  ; 
but  I  had  on  a  Greek  jacket  that  morning  of  blue 
velvet  and  gold,  and  a  white  skirt,  and  perhaps 
these  had  some  memories  of  the  circus  for  the 
old  lady.'" 

"You  are  only  jesting  now,  Nina." 

"Don't  you  know  me  well  enough  to  know 


that  I  never  jest  when  I  think,  or  even  suspect, 
I  am  injured?" 

"Injured!" 

"It's  not  the  word  I  wanted,  but  it  will  do  ;  I 
used  it  in  its  French  sense." 

"You  bear  her  no  malice,  I'm  sure?"  said  the 
other,  caressingly. 

"No!"  replied  she,  with  a  shrug  that  seemed 
to  deprecate  even  having  a  thought  about  her. 

"She  will  stay  for  dinner,  and  we  must,  as  far 
as  possible,  receive  her  in  the  way  she  has  been 
used  to  here — a  very  homely  dinner,  served  as  she 
has  always  seen  it — no  fruit  or  flowers  on  the  ta- 
ble, no  claret-cup,  no  finger-glasses. " 

"I  hope  no  table-cloth;  couldn't  we  have  a 
tray  on  a  corner  table,  and  every  one  help  him- 
self as  he  strolled  about  the  room  ?" 

"  Dear  Nina,  be  reasonable  just  for  this  once." 

"  I'll  come  down  just  as  I  am,  or,  better  still, 
I'll  take  down  my  hair  and  cram  it  into  a  net ; 
I'd  oblige  her  with  dirty  hands,  if  I  only  knew  howr 
to  do  it." 

"  I  see  you  only  say  these  things  in  jest :  you 
really  do  mean  to  help  me  through  this  diffi- 
culty." 

"  But  why  a  difficulty  ?  what  reason  can  you 
offer  for  all  this  absurd  submission  to  the  whims 
of  a  very  tiresome  old  woman  ?  Is  she  very  rich, 
and  do  you  expect  a  heritage  ?" 

"No,  no  ;  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"  Does  she  load  you  with  valuable  presents  ?  Is 
she  ever  ready  to  commemorate  birthdays  and 
family  festivals  ?" 

"No." 

"Has  she  any  especial  quality  or  gift  beyond 
riding  double  and  a  bad  temper  ?  Oh,  I  was  for- 
getting ;  she  is  the  aunt  of  her  nephew,  isn't  she 
— the  dashing  lancer  that  was  to  spend  his  sum- 
mer over  here  ?" 

"You  were,  indeed,  forgetting  when  you  said 
this,"  said  Kate,  proudly,  and  her  face  grew  scar- 
let as  she  spoke. 

"Tell  me  that  you  like  him  or  that  he  likes 
yon ;  tell  me  that  there  is  something,  any  thing, 
between  you,  child,  and  I'll  be  discreet  and  man- 
nerly, too ;  and  more,  I'll  behave  to  the  old  lady 
with  even-  regard  to  one  who  holds  such  dear  in- 
terests in  her  keeping.  But  don't  bandage  my 
eyes,  and  tell  me  at  the  same  time  to  look  out 
and  see." 

"I  have  no  confidences  to  make  you,"  said 
Kate,  coldly.  "I  came  here  to  ask  a  favor — a 
very  small  favor,  after  all — and  you  might  have 
accorded  it,  without  question  or  ridicule." 

"  But  which  you  never  need  have  asked,  Kate," 
said  the  other,  gravely.  "You  ai-e  the  mistress 
here;  I  am  but  a  very  humble  guest.  Your  or- 
ders are  obeyed,  as  they  ought  to  be ;  my  sug- 
gestions may  be  adopted  now  and  then — partly 
in  caprice,  part  compliment — but  I  know  they 
have  no  permanence,  no  more  take  root  here  than 
— than  myself." 

"Do  not  say  that,  my  dearest  Nina,"  said 
Kate,  as  she  threw  herself  on  her  neck,  and  kiss- 
ed her  affectionately  again  and  again.  "You 
are  one  of  us,  and  we  are  all  proud  of  it.  Come 
along  with  me,  now,  and  tell  me  all  that  you  ad- 
vise. You  know  what  I  wish,  and  you  will  for- 
give me  even  in  my  stupidity." 

"  Where's  your  brother?"  asked  Nina,  hastily. 

"  Gone  out  with  his  gun.  He'll  not  be  back  till 
he  is  certain  Miss  Betty  has  taken  her  departure." 


I. OKI)   KILCOBBIN. 


.V.) 


"Why  did  he  not  offer  to  take  me  with  him  ?" 

"Over  the  bog,  do  you  moan?" 

•« Any  where;  Vd  not  cavil  abont  the  road. 
Don't  yon  know  that  I  have  days  when  'don't 
care'  masters  me :  when  Pd  do  any  tiling,  go 
any  where — " 

'••  Marry  any  one?"  said  the  other,  laughing. 

•■  STes  ;  marry  any  one.  as  irresponsibly  as  it*  I 
was  dealing  with  the  destiny  of  some  other  that 
.lid  not  regard  me.  On  these  days  I  do  not  be- 
long to  myself,  ami  this  is  one  of  them." 

"I  know  nothing  of  such  humors,  Nina;  nor 
do  I  believe  it  a  healthy  mind  that  has  them." 

"I  did  not  boast  of  my  mind's  health,  nor  tell 
von  to  trust  to  it.  Come,  let  as  go  down  to  the 
dinner-room,  and  talk  that  pleasant  leg-of-mut- 
ton talk  you  know  you  are  fond  of." 

"And  best  fitted  for — say  that,"  said  Kate, 
Laughing  merrily. 

The  other  did  not  seem  to  have  heard  her 
words,  for  she  moved  slowly  away,  calling  on 
Kate  to  follow  her. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

A    SMALL    PINXER-rARTY. 

It  is  sad  to  have  to  record  that  all  Kate's  per- 
suasions with  her  cousin,  all  her  own  earnest  at- 
tempts at  conciliation,  and  her  ably  planned 
schemes  to  escape  a  difficulty,  were  only  so  much 
Labor  Lost  A  stern  message  from  her  father 
commanded  her  to  make  no  change  either  in  the 
house  or  the  service  of  the  dinner — an  interfer- 
ence with  domestic  cares  so  novel  on  his  part  as 
to  show  that  he  had  prepared  himself  for  hos- 
tilities and  was  resolved  to  meet  his  enemy 
boldly. 

"it'snouse,  all  Ihavebeen  telling  you,  Nina," 
said  Kate,  as  she  re-entered  her  room,  later  in 
the  day.  "  Papa  orders  me  to  have  every  thing 
as  usual,  and  won't  even  let  me  give  Miss  Betty 
an  early  dinner,  though  he  knows  she  has  nine 
miles  of  a  ride  to  reach  home." 

'•That  explains  Bomewhat  a  message  he  has 
sent  myself,"  replied  Nina,  "to  wear  my  very 
prettiest  toilet  and  my  Greek  cap,  which  he  ad- 
mired so  much  the  other  day." 

"I  am  almost  glad  that  my  wardrobe  has 
nothing  attractive,"  said  Kate,  half  sadly.  "I 
certainly  shall  never  be  rebuked  for  my  becom- 
ingness." 

'"And  do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  old  wom- 
an woidd  be  rude  enough  to  extend  her  com- 
ments to  me  ?" 

"I  have  known  her  do  things  quite  as  hardy, 
though  I  hope  on  the  present  occasion  the  other 
novelties  may  Bhelteryou." 

••Why  isn't  your  brother  here?  I  should  in- 
sist on  his  coming  down  in  discreet  black,  with  a 
white  tie,  and  that  look  of  imposing  solemnity 
young  Englishmen  assume  for  dinner." 

"Dick  guessed  what  was  coming,  and  would 
not  encounter  it." 

"And  yet  you  tell  me  you  submit  to  all  this 
for  no  earthly  reason.  She  can  leave  you  no 
legacy,  contribute  in  no  way  to  your  benefit. 
She  has  neither  family,  fortune,  nor  connections; 
and,  except  her  atrocious  manners  and  her  in- 
domitable temper,  there  is  not  a  tvait  of  her  that 
claims  to  he  recorded." 


"Oh   yes;    she   rides   eapitalh    to  hounds,  and 

huut>  her  own  harriers  to  perfection." 
••  I  am  glad  she  has  one  quality  that  deserves 

your  favor." 

"•She  has  others,  too,  which  I  like  better  than 

what  they  call  accomplishments,     she  is  very 

kind  to  the  poor,  never  deterred  by  any  sickness 
from  visiting  them,  and  has  the  same  stout-heart- 
ed courage  tor  every  casualty  in  life." 

"A  commendable  gift  for  a  squaw;  but  what 
does  a  gentlewoman  want  with  this  same  cour- 
age ?" 

"Look  out  of  the  window,  Nina,  and  see 
where  you  are  Living!  Throw  your  eyes  over 
that  great  expanse  of  dark  bog,  vast  as  one  of 
the  great  campagnas  you  have  often  described  to 
us,  and  bethink  you  how  mere  loneliness — deso- 
lation— needs  a  stout  heart  to  hear  it  ;  how  the 
simple  fact  that  for  the  long  hours  of  a  summer's 
day.  or  the  longer  bonis  of  a  winter's  night,  a 
lone  woman  has  to  watch  and  think  of  all  the 
possible  casualties  lives  of  hardship  and  misery 
may  impel  men  to.  Do  you  imagine  that  she 
does  not  mark  the  growing  discontent  of  the 
people?  see  their  care-worn  looks,  dashed  with  a 
sullen  determination,  and  hear  in  their  voices  the 
rising  of  a  hoarse  defiance  that  was  never  heard 
before?  Does  she  not  well  know  that  every 
kindness  she  has  bestowed,  every  merciful  act 
she  has  ministered,  would  weigh  for  nothing  in 
the  balance  on  the  day  that  she  will  be  arraigned 
as  a  land-owner — the  receiver  of  the  poor  man's 
rent?  And  will  you  tell  me,  after  this,  she  can 
dispense  with  courage?" 

"Bel  paese  davvero!"  muttered  the  other. 
"So  it  is!"  cried  Kate;  "with  all  its  faults, 
I'd  not  exchange  it  for  the  brightest  land  that 
ever  glittered  in  a  southern  sun.  But  why  should 
I  tell  you  how  jarred  and  disconcerted  we  are 
by  laws  that  have  no  reference  to  our  ways — con- 
ferring rights  where  we  were  once  contented 
with  trustfulness,  and  teaching  men  to  do  every- 
thing by  contract,  and  nothing  by  affection,  noth- 
ing by  good-w  ill  ?" 

"No,  no;  tell  me  none  of  all  these;  but  tell 
me  shall  I  come  down  in  my  Suliote  jacket  of 
yellow  cloth,  for  I  know  it  becomes  me  ?" 

•■And  if  we  women  had  not  courage,"  went 
on  Kate,  not  heeding  the  question,  "what  would 
our  men  do?  Should  we  sec  them  lead  lives  of 
bolder  daring  than  the  stoutest  wanderer  in  Af- 
rica ?" 

"And  my  jacket,  and  my  Theban  belt?" 
"Wear  them  all.      Be  as  beautiful  as  you  like, 
but  don't  be  late  for  dinner."     And  Kate  hurried 
away  before  the  other  could  speak. 

When  Miss  O'Shea,  arrayed  in  a  scarlet  poplin 
and  a  yellow  gauze  turban— the  month  being 
August— arrived  in  the  drawing-room  before  din- 
ner, she  found  no  one  there — a  circumstance  that 
chagrined  her  so  far  that  she  had  hurried  her 
toilet   and    torn  one   of  her  -love,   in    her    haste. 

"When  they  say  six  for  the  dinner-hour,  thej 
might  surely"  lie 'in  the  drawing-room  by  that 
hour,"  was '.Miss  Betty's  reflection,  a-  Bhe  turned 
over  bou f  the  magazines  ami  circulating-li- 
brary hooks  which  sine.-  Nina's  arrival  had  found 
their  way  to  Kilgohbin.  The  contemptuous  man- 
ner in  which  -he  treated  Blackwood  and  Mac- 
miUan,  and  the  indignant  daBh  with  which  Bhe 
flung  Trollope's  last  novel  down,  showed  that  -he 
had  not  been  yel  corrupted  by  the  light  reading 


CO 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


of  the  age.  An  unopened  county  newspaper, 
addressed  to  the  Viscount  Kilgobbin,  had,  how- 
ever, absorbed  all  her  attention,  and  she  was  more 
than  half  disposed  to  possess  herself  of  the  envel- 
ope, when  Mr.  Kearney  entered. 

His  bright  blue  coat  and  white  waistcoat,  a 
profusion  of  shirt  frill,  and  a  voluminous  cravat 
proclaimed  dinner  dress,  and  a  certain  pomposi- 
ty of  manner  showed  how  an  unusual  costume 
had  imposed  on  himself,  and  suggested  an  impor- 
tant event. 

"I  hope  I  see  Miss  O'Shea  in  good  health?" 
said  lie,  advancing. 

"  How  are  you,  Maurice  ?"  replied  she,  dryly. 
"When  I  heard  that  big  bell  thundering  away. 
I  was  so  afraid  to  be  late  that  I  came  down  with 
one  bracelet,  and  I  have  torn  my  glove  too." 

"  It  was  only  the  first  bell — the  dressing-bell,'' 
he  said. 

"Humph!  That's  something  new  since  I 
was  here  la<t."  said  she,  tartly. 

"  Yen  remind  me  of  how  long  it  is  since  you 
dined  with  us,  Miss  O'Shea." 

"Well,  indeed,  Maurice,  I  meant  to  be  lon- 
ger, if  I  must  tell  the  truth.  I  saw  enough  the 
last  day  I  lunched  here  to  show  me  Kilgobbin 
was  not  what  it  used  to  be.  You  were  all  of  you 
what  my  poor  father — who  was  always  thinking 
of  the  dogs — used  to  call  'on  your  hind-legs,' 
walking  about  very  stately  and  very  miserable. 
There  were  three  or  four  covered  dishes  on  the 
table  that  nobody  tasted  ;  and  an  old  man,  in  red 
breeches,  ran  about  in  half  distraction,  and  said, 
'  Sherry,  my  lord,  or  Madeira.'  Many's  the  time 
I  laughed  over  it  since."  And,  as  though  to 
vouch  for  the  truth  of  the  mirthfulness,  she  lay 
back  in  her  chair,  and  shook  with  hearty  laughter. 

Before  Kearney  could  reply — for  something 
like  a  passing  apoplexy  had  arrested  his  words 
— the  girls  entered  and  made  their  salutations. 

"If  I  had  the  honor  of  knowing  you  longer, 
Miss  Costigan,"  said  Miss  O'Shea — for  it  was 
thus  she  translated  the  name  Kostalergi — "I'd 
ask  you  why  you  couldn't  dress  like  your  cousiu 
Kate.  It  may  be  all  very  well  in  the  house,  and 
it's  safe  enough  here,  there's  no  denying  it ;  but 
my  name's  not  Betty  if  you'd  walk  down  Kilbeg- 
gin  without  a  crowd  yelling  after  you  and  calling 
names,  too,  that  a  respectable  young  woman 
wouldn't  bargain  for;   eh,  Maurice,  is  that  true  ?" 

"There's  the  dinner-bell  now,"  said  Maurice; 
"  may  I  offer  my  arm  ?" 

"  It's  thin  enough  that  arm  is  getting,  Maurice 
Kearney."  said  she,  as  he  walked  along  at  her 
side.  "  Not  but  it's  time,  too.  You  were  born 
in  the  September  of  1809,  though  your  mother 
used  to  deny  it ;  and  you're  now  a  year  older  than 
your  father  was  when  he  died." 

"Will  you  take  this  place?"  said  Kearney, 
placing  her  chair  for  her.  "  We're  a  small  party 
to-day.      I  see.  Dick  does  not  dine  with  us." 

"  Maybe  I  hunted  him  away.  The  young  gen- 
tlemen of  the  present  day  are  frank  enough  to 
say  what  they  think  of  old  maids.  That's  very 
elegant,  and  I'm  sure  it's  refined,"  said  she,  point- 
ing to  the  mass  of  fruit  and  flowers  so  tastefully 
arranged  before  her.  "  But  I  was  born  in  a  time 
when  people  liked  to  see  what  they  were  going 
to  eat,  Maurice  Kearney,  and  as  I  don't  intend 
to  break  my  fast  on  a  stock-gillyflower,  or  make 
a  repast  of  raisins,  I  prefer  the  old  way.  Fill  up 
my  glass  whenever  it's  empty,"  said  she  to  the 


I  servant,  "  and  don't  bother  me  with  the  name  of 
'  it.  As  long  as  I  know  the  King's  County,  and 
|  that's  more  than  fifty  years,  we've  been  calling 
Cape  Madeira,  sherry!" 

"If  we  know  what  we  are  drinking,  Miss 
O'Shea,  I  don't  suppose  it  matters  much." 

"  Nothing  at  all,  Maurice.  Calling  you  the 
Viscount  Kilgobbin,  as  I  read  a  while  ago,  won't 
confuse  me  about  an  old  neighbor." 

•'Won't  you  try  a  cutlet,  godmother?"  asked 
Kate,  hurriedly. 

"Indeed  I  will,  my  dear.  I  don't  know  why 
I  was  sending  the  man  away.  I  never  saw  this 
way  of  dining  before,  except  at  the  poor-house, 
where  each  poor  creature  has  his  plateful  given 
him.  and  pockets  what  he  can't  eat."  And  here 
she  laughed  long  and  heartily  at  the  conceit. 

Kearney's  good-humor  relished  the  absurdity, 
and  he  joined  in  the  laugh,  while  Nina  stared  at 
the  old  woman  as  an  object  of  dread  and  terror. 

"And  that  boy  that  wouldn't  dine  with  us — 
how  is  he  turning  out,  Maurice  ?  They  tell  me 
he's  a  bit  of  a  scamp." 

"  He's  no  such  thing,  godmother  !  Dick  is  as 
good  a  fellow  and  as  right-minded  as  ever  lived, 
and  you  yourself  would  be  the  first  to  say  it,  if 
you  saw  him,"  cried  Kate,  angrily. 

"  So  would  the  young  lady  yonder,  if  I  might 
judge  from  her  blushes,'' said  Miss  Betty,  looking 
at  Nina.  "Not  indeed  but  it's  only  now  I'm  re- 
membering that  you're  not  a  boy.  That  little  red 
cap  and  that  thing  you  wear  round  your  throat 
deceived  me." 

"It  is  not  the  lot  of  every  one  to  be  so  fortu- 
nate in  a  head-dress  as  Miss  O'Shea,"  said  Nina, 
very  calmly. 

"  If  it's  my  wig  you  are  envying  me.  my  dear," 
replied  she,  quietly.  "  there's  nothing  easier  than 
to  have  the  own  brother  of  it.  It  was  made  by 
Crimp,  of  Nassau  Street,  and  box  and  all  cost 
four  pound  twelve." 

"  Upon  my  life,  Miss  Betty."  broke  in  Kear- 
ney. '"  you  are  tempting  me  to  an  extravagance." 
And  he  passed  Ids  hand  over  his  sparsely  covered 
head  as  he  spoke. 

"And  I  would  not,  if  I  was  you,  Maurice 
Kearney."  said  she,  resolutely.  "They  tell  me 
that  in  that  House  of  Lords  you  are  going  to 
more  than  half  of  them  are  bald." 

There  was  no  possible  doubt  that  she  meant 
by  this  speech  to  deliver  a  challenge,  and  Kate's 
look,  at  once  imploring  and  sorrowful,  appealed 
to  her  for  mercy. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Miss  Betty,  to  the  serv- 
ant who  presented,  a  dish.  "  though,  indeed,  may- 
be I'm  wrong,  for  I  don't  know  what's  coming." 

"This  is  the  'menu,'"  said  Nina,  handing  a 
card  to  her. 

"The  bill  of  fare,  godmother,"  said  Kate, 
hastily. 

"  Well,  indeed,  it's  a  kindness  to  tell  me  :  and 
if  there  are  any  more  novelties  to  follow,  perhaps 
you'll  be  kind  enough  to  inform  me,  for  I  never 
dined  in  the  Greek  fashion  before." 

"  The  Russian,  I  believe,  madam,  not  the 
Greek,"  said  Nina. 

"With  all  my  heart,  my  dear.  It's  about  the 
same,  for  whatever  may  happen  to  Maurice  Kear- 
ney or  myself,  I  don't  suspect  either  of  us  will  go 
to  live  at  Moscow." 

"You'll  not  refuse  a  glass  of  port  with  you; 
cheese  ?"  said  Kearney. 


LORD  KILGOBBIK 


61 


'•  Indeed  I  will,  then,  if  there's  any  beer  in  the 
house,  though  perhaps  it's  too  vulgar  a  liquor  to 
ask  for." 

While  the  beer  was  being  brought,  a  solemn 
silence  ensued,  and  a  less  comfortable  party  could 
not  easily  be  imagined. 

When  the  interval  had  been  so  far  prolonged 
that  Kearney  himself  saw  the  necessity  to  do 
something,  he  placed  liis  napkin  no  the  table, 
leaned  forward  with  a  half  motion  of  rising,  and, 
addressing  Miss  Betty,  said.  "Shall  we  adjourn 
to  the  drawing-room,  and  take  our  coffee  ?" 

••I'd  rather  stay  where  I  am,  Maurice  Kear- 
ney, and  have  that  glass  of  port  you  offered  me 
a  while  ago,  for  the  beer  was  Hat.  Not  that  I'll 
detain  the  young  people,  nor  keep  yourself  away 
from  them  very  long." 

When  the  two  girls  withdrew.  Nina's  look  of 
insolent  triumph  at  Kate  betrayed  the  tone  she 
was  soon  to  take  in  treating  of  the  old  lady's 
good  manni  re. 

"Yon  had  a  very  BOrry  dinner.  Miss  Betty, 
but  I  can  promise  you  an  honest  glass  of  wine," 
said  Kearney,  tilling  her  glass. 

"It's  very  nice,"  said  she.  sipping  it,  "though, 
maybe,  like  myself,  it's  just  a  trifle  too  old." 

••  A  good  fault.  Miss  Betty,  a  good  fault." 

••For  the  wine,  perhaps,"  said  she,  dryly; 
••hut  maybe  it  would  taste  better  if  I  had  not 
bought  it  so  dearly." 

••  I  don't  think  I  understand  you." 

"  I  wa-  about  to  say  that  I  have  forfeited  that 
young  lady'-  esteem  by  the  way  I  obtained  it. 
She'll  never  forgive  me,  instead  of  retiring  for  my 
Coffee,  sitting  here  like  a  man — and  a  man  of 
that  old  hard-drinking  school,  Maurice,  that  has 
brought  all  the  ruin  on  Ireland." 

"Here's  to  their  memory,  any  way,"  said 
Kearney,  drinking  off  his  glass. 

••  I'll' drink  no  toasts  nor  sentiments,  Maurice 
Kearney:  and  there's  no  artifice  or  roguery  will 
make  me  forget  I'm  a  woman  and  an  O'Shea.'' 

••  Faix,  you'll  not  catch  me  forgetting  either," 
said  Maurice,  with  a  droll  twinkle  of  bis  eye, 
which  it  was  just  as  fortunate  escaped  her  notice. 

"I  doubted  for  a  longtime.  Maurice  Kearney, 
whether  I'd  come  over  myself,  or  whether  I'd 
ivrite  you  a  letter  ;  not  that  1  am  good  at  writ- 
ing, but,  somehow,  one  can  put  their  ideas  more 
clear,  and  say  things  in  a  way  that  will  fix  them 
more  in  the  mind  ;  but  at  last  I  determined  I'd 
come,  though  it's  more  than  likely  it's  the  last 
time  Kilgobbin  will  see  me  here." 

"  I  sincerely  trust  you  are  mistaken,  so  far." 

"Well,  Maurice.  I'm  not  often  mistaken.  The 
woman  that  ha-  managed  an  estate  for  more  than 
forty  years,  been  her  own  land-steward  and  her 
own  law-agent,  d n't  make  a  great  many  blun- 
ders; and.  as  I  said  before,  if  Maurice  lias  no 
friend  to  tell  him  the  truth  among  the  men  of  his 
acquaintance,  it's  well  that  there  is  a  woman  to 
the  fore  who  has  courage  and  good  sense  to  go 
up  and  do  it." 

Looked  fixedly  at  him,  as  though  expecting 

some  concurrence  in  the  remark,  if  not  some  in- 
timation to  proceed  :  but  neither  came,  and  she 
coutinued. 

"I  suppose  you  don't  read  the  Dublin  news- 
papers ?"  -aid  site,  civilly. 

'•  I  do.  ami  every  day  the  post  brings  them." 
"Ton  see, therefore,  without  my  telling  you, 
what  the  world  is  saying  about  yon.      '> 


how  they  treat  "the    ,-eaivh    for   arm-,'  as    they 

head  it.  and  •  the  maid  of  Saxagossa  !'  <  ih.  Mau- 
rice Kearney!  Maurice  Kearney!  whatever  hap- 
pened the  old  stock  of  the  land,  they  never  made 
themselves  ridiculous." 

•'lla\e  \ou  done,  .Mi--  Betty?"  asked  he, 
with  assumed  calm. 

'•Done!  Why,  it's  only  beginning  I  am." 
died  she.  •'  Not  but  I'd  bear  a  deal  of  black- 
guarding from  the  press  ;  as  the  old  woman  said 
when  the  soldier  threatened  to  run  his  bayonet 
through  her,  "Devil  thank  you,  it'-  onlv  your 
track'.'  But  when  we  come  to  Bee  the  head  of  an 
old  family  making  ducks  and  drakes  of  bis  fam- 
ily property,  threatening  the  old  tenant-  that  have 
been  on  the  laud  as  long  as  his  own  people,  rais- 
ing the  rent  here,  evicting  there,  distressing  the 
people's  minds  when  they've  just  a-  much  a-  the;. 
can  to  bear  up  with — then  it's  time  for  an  old 
friend  and  neighbor  to  give  a  timely  warning, 
and  cry  "stop.'  " 

••  Have  you  done.  Miss  Betty?"  And  now  his 
voice  was  more  stent  than  before. 

"  I  have  not,  nor  near  done,  Maurice  Kearney. 
I've  said  nothing  of  the  way  you're  bringing  up 
your  family — that  son,  in  particular — to  make 
him  think  himself  a  young  man  of  fortune,  when 
you  know  in  your  heart  you'll  leave  him  little 
more  than  the  mortgages  on  the  estate.  I  have 
not  told  you  that  it's  one  of  the  jokes  of  the  cap- 
ita] to  call  him  the  Honorable  Dick  Kearney,  and 
to  ask  him  after  his  father  the  viscount." 

"You  haven't  done  yet.  Miss  O'Shea?"  said 
he.  now  with  a  thickened  voice. 

••  No.  not  yet,"  replied  she,  calmly  ;  "  not  yet  ; 
for  I'd  like  to  remind  you  of  the  way  you're  be- 
having to  the  best  of  the  whole  of  you — the  only 
one,  indeed,  that's  worth  much  in  the  family — 
your  daughter  Kate." 

"Well,  what  have  I  clone  to  wrong  her?"  said 
he,  earned  bejond  his  prudence  by  so  astounding 
a  charge. 

'•  The  very  worst  you  could  do.  Maurice  Kear- 
ney; the  only  mischief  it  was  in  your  power,  may- 
be. Look  at  the  companion  you  have  given  her! 
Look  at  the  respectable  young  lady  you've  brought 
home  to  live  with  your  decent  child!" 

"You'll  not  stop?"  cried  he,  almost  choking 
with  passion. 

"Not  till  I've  told  you  why  I  came  here,  Mau- 
rice Kearney  ;  for  I'd  beg  you  to  understand  it 
was  no  interest  about  yourself  or  your  doings 
brought  me.  1  came  to  tell  you  that  I  mean  to 
be  free  about  an  old  contract  we  once  made — that 
I  revoke  it  all.  1  was  fool  enough  to  believe  that 
an  alliance  between  our  families  would  have 
made  me  entirely  happy,  and  my  nephew,  Gor- 
man O'Shea,  was  brought  up  to  think  the  same. 
I  have  lived  to  know  better.  Maurice  Kearney  : 
I  have  lived  to  see  that  we  don't  suit  each  other 
at  all,  and  I  have  come  here  to  declare  to  v.,n 
formally  that  it's  all  off.  No  nephew  of  mine 
shall  ci'mie  here  for  a  wife.  The  heir  to  Shea's 
Barn  sha'n't  bring  the  mistress  of  it  out  of  Kil- 
gobbin (  astle." 

"Trust  me  for  that,  old  lady."  cried   1 
getting  all   his  good  manners  in    hi-  violent  pa- 

don. 

"You'll  be  all  the  freer  to  catch  a  young  aid- 

de-camp  from  the  Castle," said  Bhe, sneeringly; 

••or  maybe,  indeed,  a  young  lord — a  rank  equal 
to  your  own." 


e,2 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"Haven't  you  said  enough?"  screamed  he, 
wild  with  rage. 

' '  No,  nor  half,  or  you  wouldn't  he  standing 
there  wringing  your  hands  with  passion,  and  your 
hair  bristling  like  a  porcupine.  You'd  be  at  my 
feet,  Maurice  Kearney — ay,  at  my  feet. " 

"  So  I  would,  Miss  Betty,"  chimed  he  in,  with 
a  malicious  grin,  "if  I  was  only  sure  you'd  be 
as  cruel  as  the  last  time  I  knelt  there.  Oh  dear! 
oh  dear !  and  to  think  that  I  once  wanted  to  mar- 
ry that  woman !" 

"That  you  did!  You'd  have  put  your  hand 
in  the  fire  to  win  her." 

"  By  my  conscience,  I'd  have  put  myself  alto- 
gether there,  if  I  had  won  her." 

"You  understand  now,  Sir,"  said  she,  haugh- 
tily, "that  there's  no  more  between  us." 

"Thank  God  for  the  same!"  ejaculated  he, 
fervently. 

"And  that  no  nephew  of  mine  comes  courting 
a  daughter  of  yours  ?" 

' '  For  his  own  sake,  he'd  better  not. " 

"It's  for  his  own  sake  I  intend  it,  Maurice 
Kearney.  It's  of  himself  I'm  thinking.  And  now 
thanking  you  for  the  pleasant  evening  I've  passed, 
and  your  charming  society,  I'll  take  my  leave." 

"I  hope  you'll  not  rob  us  of  your  company  till 
you  take  a  dish  of  tea,"  said  he,  with  well- feigned 
politeness. 

' '  It's  hard  to  tear  one's  self  away,  Mr.  Kear- 
ney ;   but  it's  late  already. " 

"  Couldn't  we  induce  you  to  stop  the  night, 
Miss  Betty  ?"  asked  he,  in  a  tone  of  insinuation. 
"  Well,  at  least  you'll  let  me  ring  to  order  your 
horse  ?" 

"  You  may  do  that,  if  it  amuses  you,  Maurice 
Kearney;  but,  meanwhile,  I'll  just  do  what  I've 
always  done  in  the  same  place — I'll  just  go  look 
for  my  own  beast  and  see  her  saddled  myself; 
and  as  Peter  Gill  is  leaving  you  to-morrow,  I'll 
take  him  back  with  me  to-night." 

"  Is  he  going  to  you  ?"  cried  he,  passionately. 

"He's  going  to  me,  Mr.  Kearney,  with  your 
leave,  or  without  it,  I  don't  know  which  I  like 
best."  And  with  this  she  swept  out  of  the  room, 
while  Kearney  closed  his  eyes  and  lay  back  in 
his  chair,  stunned  and  almost  stupefied. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


A    CONFIDENTIAL   TALK. 


Dick  Kearney  walked  the  bog  from  early 
morning  till  dark  without  firing  a  shot.  The 
snipe  rose  almost  at  his  feet,  and,  wheeling  in 
circles  through  the  air,  dipped  again  into  some 
dark  crevice  of  the  waste,  unnoticed  by  him. 
One  thought  only  possessed,  and  never  left  him, 
as  he  went.  He  had  overheard  Nina's  words  to 
his  sister  as  he  made  his  escape  over  the  fence, 
and  learned  how  she  promised  to  "  spare  him  ;" 
and  that  if  not  worried  about  him,  or  asked  to 
pledge  herself,  she  should  be  "merciful,"  and 
not  entangle  the  boy  in  a  hopeless  passion. 

He  would  have  liked  to  have  scoffed  at  the  in- 
solence of  this  speech,  and  treated  it  as  a  trait  of 
overweening  vanity :  he  would  have  gladly  ac- 
cepted her  pit}'  as  a  sort  of  challenge,  and  said. 
"Be  it  so  :  let  us  see  who  will  come  safest  out  of 
this  encounter,"  and  yet  he  felt  in  his  heart  he 
could  not. 


First  of  all,  her  beauty  had  really  dazzled  him, 
and  the  thousand  graces  of  a  manner  of  which 
he  had  known  nothing  captivated  and  almost  be- 
wildered him.  He  could  not  reply  to  her  in  the 
same  tone  he  used  to  any  other.  If  he  fetched 
her  a  book  or  a  chair,  he  gave  it  with  a  sort  of 
deference  that  actually  reacted  on  himself,  and 
made  him  more  gentle  and  more  courteous, 
for  the  time.  "What  would  this  influence  end 
in  making  me  ?"  was  his  question  to  himself. 
"  Should  I  gain  in  sentiment  or  feeling  ?  Should 
I  have  higher  and  nobler  aims?  Should  I  be 
any  thing  of  that  she  herself  described  so  glow- 
ingly, or  should  I  only  sink  to  a  weak  desire  to 
be  her  slave,  and  ask  for  nothing  better  than 
some  slight  recognition  of  my  devotion?  I  take 
it  that  she  would  say  the  choice  lay  with  her, 
and  that  I  should  be  the  one  or  the  other  as  she 
willed  it,  and  though  I  would  give  much  to  be- 
lieve her  wrong,  my  heart  tells  me  that  I  can  not. 
I  came  down  here  resolved  to  resist  any  influence 
she  might  attempt  to  have  over  me.  "  Her  like- 
ness showed  me  how  beautiful  she  was,  but  it 
could  not  tell  me  the  dangerous  fascination  of  her 
low  liciuid  voice,  her  half-playful,  half-melancholy 
smile,  and  that  bewitching  walk,  with  all  its 
stately  grace,  so  that  every  fold  as  she  moves 
sends  its  own  thrill  of  ecstasy.  And  now  that  I 
know  all  these,  see  and  feel  them,  I  am  told  that 
to  me  they  can  bring  no  hope !  That  I  am  too 
poor,  too  ignoble,  too  undistinguished,  to  raise  my 
eyes  to  such  attraction.  I  am  nothing,  and  must 
live  and  die  nothing. 

"  She  is  candid  enough,  at  all  events.  There 
is  no  rhapsody'  about  her  when  she  talks  of  pov- 
erty. She  chronicles  every  stage  of  the  misery, 
as  though  she  had  felt  them  all ;  and  how  un- 
like it  she  looks !  There  is  an  almost  insolent 
well-being  about  her  that  puzzles  me.  She  will 
not  heed  this,  or  suffer  that,  because  it  looks 
mean.  Is  this  the  subtle  worship  she  offers 
Wealth,  and  is  it  thus  she  offers  up  her  prayer  to 
Fortune  ? 

"But  why  should  she  assume  I  must  be  her 
slave  ?"  cried  he  aloud,  in  a  sort  of  defiance.  "  I 
have  shown  her  no  such  preference,  nor  made 
any  advances  that  would  show  I  want  to  win  her 
favor.  Without  denying  that  she  is  beautiful,  is 
it  so  certain  it  is  the  kind  of  beauty  I  admire? 
She  has  scores  of  fascinations — I  do  not  deny  it ; 
but  should  I  say  that  I  trust  her  ?  And  if  I 
should  trust  her,  and  love  her  too,  where  must  it 
all  end  in  ?  I  do  not  believe  in  her  theory  that 
love  will  transform  a  fellow  of  my  mould  into  a 
hero,  not  to  say  that  I  have  my  own  doubt  if  she 
herself  believes  it.  I  wonder  if  Kate,  reads  her 
more  clearly  ?  Girls  so  often  understand  each 
other  by  traits  we  have  no  clew  to  ;  and  it  was 
Kate  who  asked  her,  almost  in  tone  of  entreaty. 
'  to  spare  me,'  to  save  me  from  a  hopeless  passion, 
just  as  though  I  were  some  peasant-boy  who  had 
set  his  affection  on  a  princess.  Is  that  the  way, 
then,  the  world  would  read  our  respective  condi- 
tions ?  The  son  of  a  ruined  house  or  the  guest 
of  a  beggared  family  leaves  little  to  choose  be- 
tween! Kate — the  world — would  call  my  lot 
the  better  of  the  two.  The  man's  chance  is  not 
irretrievable,  at  least  such  is  the  theory.  Those 
half-dozen  fellows,  who  in  a  century  or  so  con- 
trive to  work  their  way  up  to  something,  make  a 
sort  of  precedent,  and  tell  the  others  what  the" 
might  be  if  they  but  knew  how. 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


68 


"  I'm  not  vain  enough  to  suppose  I  an  one  of 
these,  and  it  is  quite  plain  that  she  does  not  think 
me  bo."  He  pondered  long  over  this  thought, 
and  then  suddenly  cried  aloud,  "  Is  it  possible 
she  may  read  Joe  Atlee  in  this  fashion?  is  that 
the  stuff  out  of  which  she  hopes  to  make  a  hero?" 
There  was  more  bitterness  in  this  thought  than 
he  had  first  imagined,  and  there  was  that  of 
jealousy  in  it.  too,  that  pained  him  deeply. 

Had  she  preferred  either  of  the  two  English- 
men to  himself,  he  eould  have  understood  ami, 

in  a  measure,  accepted  it.  They  were,  as  he 
called  them,  "swells."    They  might  become,  he 

knew  not  what.  The  career  of  the  Saxon  in 
fortune  was  a  thing  incommensurable  by  Irish 

ideas  :  hut  Joe  was  like  himself,  or  in  reality  less 
than  himself,  in  worldly  advantages. 

This  pang  of  jealousy  was  very  hitter;  but 
still  it  served  to  stimulate  him  and  rouse  him 
from  a  depression  that  was  gaining  fast  upon 
him.  It  is  true,  he  remembered  she  had  spoken 
slightingly  of  Joe  Atlee.  Called  him  noisy,  pre- 
tentious, even  vulgar;  snubbed  him  openly  on 
more  than  one  occasion,  and  seemed  to  like  to 
turn  the  laugh  against  him  ;  hut  with  all  that 
she  hail  sung  duets  with  him.  corrected  some 
Italian  verses  he  wrote,  and  actually  made  a  lit- 
tle sketeh  in  his  note-book  for  him  as  a  souve- 
nir. A  souvenir !  and  of  what  ?  Not  of  the 
ridicule  she  had  turned  upon  him  ;  not  the  jest 
she  had  made  upon  his  boastfulness.  Now  which 
of  these  two  did  this  argue?  was  this  levity,  or 
was  it  falsehood?  Was  she  so  little  mindful  of 
honesty  that  she  would  show  these  signs  of  favor 
to  one  she  held  most  cheaply,  or  was  it  that  her 
distaste  to  this  man  was  mere  pretense,  and  only 
assumed  to  deceive  others? 

After  all.  doe  Atlee  was  a  nobody;  flattery 
might  call  him  an  adventurer,  hut  he  was  not 
even  so  much.  Among  the  men  of  the  dan- 
gerous party  he  mixed  with  he  was  careful  never 
to  compromise  himself.  He  might  write  the 
songs  of  rebellion,  hut  he  was  little  likely  to  tam- 
per with  treason  it-elf.  So  much  he  would  tell 
her  when  he  got  hack.  Not  angrily,  nor  pas- 
sionately— for  that  would  hetray  him  and  dis- 
close his  jealousy — hut  in  the  tone  of  a  man  re- 
vealing something  he  regretted — confessing  to  the 
blemish  of  one  he  would  have  liked  hotter  to 
speak  well  of.  There  was  not,  he  thought,  any 
thing  unfair  in  this.  He  was  hut  warning  her 
against  a  man  who  was  unworthy  of  her.  Un- 
worthy of  her!  What  words  could  express  the 
disparity  between  them?  Not  hut  if  she  liked 
him — and  this  he  said  with  a  certain  bitterness 
— or  thought  she  liked  him,  the  disproportion  al- 
ready ceased  to  exist. 

Hour  after  hour  of  that  long  summer  day  he 
walked,  revolving  such  thoughts  as  these;  all 
his  conclusions  tending  to  the  one  point,  that 
/"•  was  not  the  easy  victim  she  thought  him,  and 

that,  come  what  might,  /»-  should  not  he  offered 
up  as  a  sacrifice  to  her  worship  of  doe  Atlee. 

••  There  i-  nothing  would  gratify  the  fellow's 
vanity,"  thought  he,  "  like  a  BUCCessfdl  rivalry 
of  him.  Tell  him  he  was  preferred  to  me,  anil 
he  would  he  ready  to  fall  down  and  worship 
whoever  had  made  the  choice." 

By  dwelling  on  all  the  possible  and  impossible 
issues  of  such  an  attachment,  he  had  at  length 
convinced  himself  of  its  existence,  and  even 
more,  persuaded  himself  to  fancy  it  was  some- 


thing to  he  regretted  and  grieved  over  for  world- 
ly considerations,  hut  not  in  any  way  regarded 

as  personally  unpleasant 

A-  he  came  in  sight  of  home  and  saw  a  lighl 
in  the  small  tower  where  Kate's  hedroom  lay,  he 

determined  he  would  go  up  to  his  sister  and  tell 

her  so  much  of  his  mind  as  he  believed  was  final- 
ly settled,  and  in  such  a  way  as  would  certainly 
lead  her  to  repeat   it   to  Nina. 

"Kate  shall   tell  her  that    it'  I    have  left    her 

suddenly  ami  gone  hack  to  Trinity  to  keep  mj 

term.   I   ha\e   not    lied    the   field  in  a  moment  of 

faint-heartedness.     I  do  not  deny  her  beauty.     I 

do  not  disparage  one  of  her  attraction-:,  and  Bhe 
has  scores  of  them.  I  will  not  even  say  that 
when  I  have  sat  beside  her,  heard  her  low  soft 
voice,  and  watched  the  tremor  of  that  lovely 
mouth  vibrating  with  wit  or  tremulous  with  feel 
ing,  I  have  been  all  indifference;  hut  this  I  will 
say,  she  shall  not  number  /»<  among  the  victims 
of  her  fascinations  ;  and  when  she  counts  the 
trinkets  on  her  wrist  that  record  the  hearts  she 
has  broken — a  pastime  I  once  witnessed — not  one 
of  them  shall  record  the  initial  of  Dick  Kearney." 

"With  these  brave  words  he  mounted  the  nar- 
row- stair  and  knocked  at  his  sister's  door.  No 
answer  coming,  he  knocked  again,  and  after  wait- 
ing a  few  seconds  he  slowly  opened  the  door  and 
saw  that  Kate,  still  dressed,  had  thrown  herself 
on  her  bed,  and  was  sound  asleep.  The  table 
was  covered  with  account-hooks  and  papers  : 
tax  receipts,  law  notices,  and  tenants'  letters  lay 
littered  about,  showing  what  had  been  the  task 
die  was  last  engaged  on  ;  and  her  heavy  breathing 
told  the  exhaustion  which  it  had  left  behind  it. 

"  I  wish  I  could  help  her  with  her  work," 
muttered  he  to  himself,  as  a  pang  of  self-re- 
proach shot  through  him.  This  certainly  should 
have  been  his  own  task  rather  than  hers  ;  the 
question  was,  however,  Could  he  have  done  it? 
And  this  doubt  increased  as  he  looked  over  the 
long  column  of  tenants'  names,  whose  holdings 
varied  in  every  imaginable  quantity  of  acres, 
roods,  and  perches.  Besides  these  there  were 
innumerable  small  details  of  allowances  for  this 
and  compensation  for  that.  This  one  had  given 
so  many  days'  horse-and-car  hire  at  the  bog  ; 
that  other  had  got  advances  "in  seed  potatoes;" 
such  a  one  had  a  claim  for  reduced  rent,  b 
the  mill-race  had  overflowed  and  deluged  his 
wheat  crop;  such  another  had  fed  two  pigs  of 
"  the  lord's"  and  fattened  them,  while  himself 
and  his  own  were  nigh  starving. 

Through  an  entire  column  there  was  not  one 
case  without  its  complication,  either  in  the  shape 
of  argument  for  increased  liability,  or  claim  for 

compensation.  It  was  make-shifl  every  where, 
and  Dick  could  not  hut  ask  himself  whether  any 
tenant  on  the  estate  really  knew  how  far  he  was 
hopelessly  in  debt  or  a  solvent  man.  it  only 
needed  l'eter  GUI's  peculiar  mode  of  collectinj 

the  moneys  due,  and  recording  the  payment  h\ 
the  notched  stick,  to  make  the  complication  per 
feet;  and  there,  indeed,  upon  the  table,  amidst 
accounts,  and  bills,  and  sale-warrants,  lay  the 
memorable  bits  of  wood  thorn-elves,  as  that  wor- 
thy steward  had  deposited  them  before  quitting 

hi-  master's  service. 

Peter's  character,  too,  written  out  in  Kate's 
hand,  and  only  awaiting  her  father's  signature, 
was  on  the  table— the  first  intimation  Dick  Kear- 
ney had  that  old  Gill  had  quitted  hi-  po-t. 


64 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"All  this  must  have  occurred  to-day,"  thought 
Dick  :  "there  were  no  evidences  of  these  changes 
when  I  left  this  morning.  Was  it  the  back- 
water of  my  disgrace,  I  wonder,  that  has  over- 
whelmed poor  Gill  ?"  thought  he ;  "  or  can  I  de- 
tect Miss  Betty's  fine  Roman  hand  in  this  inci- 
dent ?" 

In  proportion  to  the  little  love  he  bore  Miss 


him  as  he  read  them,  indicating  as  they  did  her 
difficulty,  if  not  utter  incapacity,  to  deal  with  the 
condition  of  the  estate.     Thus : 

"  There  is  no  warranty  for  this  concession.  It 
can  not  be  continued." — "The notice  in  this  case 
was  duly  served,  and  Gill  knows  that  it  was  to 
papa's  generosity  they  were  indebted  for  remnin- 
ing." — "  These  arrears  have  never  been  paid  ;  u.i 


O'Shea,  were  his  convictions  the  stronger  that  she 
was  the  cause  of  all  mischief.  She  was  one  of 
those  who  took  very  "  utilitarian"  notions  of  his 
own  career,  and  he  bore  her  small  gratitude  for 
the  solicitude.  There  were  short  sentences  in 
pencil  along  the  margin  of  the  chief  book  in 
Kate's  handwriting  which  could  not  fail  to  strike 


that  point  I  am  positive!" — "Malone's  holding 
was  not  fairly  measured  ;  he  has  a  just  claim  to 
compensation,  and  shall  have  it." — "Hannigari's 
right  to  tenancy  must  not  be  disputed,  but  can 
not  be  used  as  a  precedent  by  others  on  the  same 
part  of  the  estate,  and  I  will  state  why." — "  More 
of  Peter  Gill's  conciliatory  policy  !     The  Regans, 


LORD  KLLGOBBIN. 


for  having  been  twice  in  jail,  and  once  indicted, 
and  nearly  convicted  of  Wbbonism,  have  estab- 
lished a  claim  to  live  ten!  free !  This  I  will 
promise  to  rectify." — "  1  shall  make  no  more  al- 
lowances for  improvements  without  a  guarantee, 
and  a  penalty  besides  on  non-completion." 

Ami  la>t  of  all  came  these  ominous  words: 
'"It  will  thus  In-  seen  thai  our  rent-roll  since 

'64  has  been  progressively  decreasing,  ami  that 
we  have  only  been  able  to  supply  oar  expenses  by 
sales  of  property.     Dick  must  he  spoken  to  on 

this,  and  at  once." 

Several  entries  had  been  already  rubbed  out, 
ami  it  was  clear  that  she  had  been  occupied  in 
the  task  of  erasiou  on  that  very  night  Poor 
girl  !  her  sleep  was  the  heavy  repose  of  one  ut- 
terly exhausted  :  and  her  closely  clasped  lips  and 
corrugated  brow  showed  in  what  frame  of  intense 
thought  she  had  sunk  to  rest.  He  closed  the 
book  noiselessly  as  he  looked  at  her,  replaced  the 

various  objects  on  the  table,  ami  rose  to  steal 
quietly  away. 

The  accidental  movement  of  a  chair,  however, 
startled  her  ;  she  turned,  and  leaning  on  her  el- 
bow, she  saw  him  as  he  tried  to  move  away. 
"  Don't  go,  Dick;  don't  go.  I'm  awake,  and 
quite  fresh  again.     Is  it  late?" 

'•It's  not  far  from  one  o'clock,"  said  he,  half 
roughly,  to  hide  his  emotion  ;  for  her  worn  ami 
wearied  features  struck  him  now  more  forcibly 
than  when  she  slept. 

"  And  are  you  only  returned  now  ?  How  hun- 
gry you  must  be  !  Poor  fellow — have  you  dined 
to-day  ?" 

'•  Yes;  I  got  to  Owen  MoIIoy's  as  they  were 
straining  the  potatoes,  and  sat  down  with  them, 
and  ate  very  heartily,  too." 

"  Weren't  they  proud  of  it?  Won't  they  tell 
how  the  young  lord  shared  their  meal  with  them  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  they  are  as  cordial  as  they  used 
to  be,  Kate;  they  did  not  talk  so  openly,  nor  seem 
at  their  ease,  as  I  once  knew  them.  And  they 
did  one  thing  significant  enough  in  its  way,  that 
I  did  not  like.  They  quoted  the  county  newspa- 
)<  sr  twice  or  thrice  when  we  talked  of  the  land." 

"I  am  aware  of  that,  Dick;  they  have  got 
other  counselors  than  their  landlords  now,"  said 
-he.  mournfully,  "and  it  is  our  own  fault  if  they 
have." 

••  What,  are  you  turning  nationalist,  Kitty  ?" 
said  he,  laughing. 

"I  was  always  a  nationalist  in  one  sense," said 
she',  "and  mean  to  continue  so;  but  let  us  not 
get  upon  this  theme.  Do  vou  know  that  Peter 
Gill  has  left  us?" 

•■  What,  for  America?'1 

'•  No;  for  'O'Shea's  Barn.'  Miss  Betty  has 
taken  him.  .She  came  here  to-day  to  '  have  it 
out'  with'  papa,  as  Bhe  said  ;  and  she  has  kept 
her  word.  Indeed,  not  alone  with  him,  but  with 
all  of  us — even  Nina  did  not  escape." 

"  Insufferable  old  woman  !  What  did  she  dare 
to  Bay  to  Nina  ?" 

'•she  got  off  the  cheapest  of  us  all.  Dick," 
said  she,  laughing.     "  It  was  only  some  Btupid 

remark  she  made  her  about  looking  like  a  boy.  or 
being  dressed  like  a  rope-dancer.  A  small  civil- 
ity of  this  BOTt  was  her  share  of  the  general  at- 
tention." 

••  And  how  did  Nina  take  the  insolence?" 

'•With  great  good-temper,  or  good-breeding. 

I  don't  know  exactly  which  covered  the  indiffer- 
E 


ence  she  displayed,  till  Miss  Betty,  when  Caking 

her  leave,  renewed  the  impertinence  in  the  hall 
by  saying  something  about  tin'  triumphant  suc- 
cess such  a  COBtnme  Would  achieve  in  the  circus, 

wIimi  Nina  courtesied,  ami  said,  '1  am  charmed 

to  hear  you  say  so,  madam,  and  shall  wear  it  for 
my  benefit;    and,  if  I  could  onlv   secure   the  ap 

pearance  of  yourself  ami  your  little  groom,  my 

triumph  would  be,  indeed,  complete.'  I  did  not 
dare  to  wait  for  more,  but  hurried  out  to  aifect  to 
busy  myself  with  the  saddle,  and  pretend  that  it 
was  not  tightly  girthed." 

"I'd  have  given  twenty  pounds,  if  I  had  it,  to 
have  seen  the  old  woman's  face.  No  one  ever 
ventured  before  to  pay  her  back  with  her  own 
money." 

"  But  I  give  you  such  a  wrong  version  of  it, 
Dick.  I  only  convey  the  coarseness  of  the  re- 
joinder, and  I  can  give  you  no  idea  of  the  inef- 
fable grace  and  delicacy  which  made  her  words 
sound  like  a  humble  apology.  Her  eyelids 
drooped  as  she  courtesied,  and  when  she  looked 
up  again,  in  a  way  that  seemed  humility  itself,  to 
have  reproved  her  would  have  appeared  down- 
right cruelty." 

"  She  is  a  finished  coquette,"  said  he,  bitterly ; 
"a  finished  coquette." 

Kate  made  no  answer,  though  he  evidently  ex- 
pected one;  and  after  waiting  a  while  he  went 
on.  "Not  but  her  high  accomplishments  are 
,  clean  thrown  away  in  such  a  place  as  this,  and 
'  among  such  people.  What  chance  of  fitting  ex- 
ercise have  they  with  my  father  or  myself'/  ( );• 
is  it  on  Joe  Atlee  she  would  try  the  range  of  her 
artillery  ?" 

"  Not  so  very  impossible  this,  after  all,"  mut- 
tered Kate,  quietly. 

'•  What !  and  is  it  to  that  her  high  ambitions 
tend  ?     Is  he  the  prize  she  would  strive  to  win  ?" 

"I  can  be  no  guide  to  you  in  this  matter, 
Dick.  She  makes  no  confidences  with  me,  and 
of  myself  I  see  nothing." 

"  You  have,  however,  some  influence  over  her." 

"  No  ;  not  much." 

"  I  did  not  say  much  ;  but  enough  to  induce 
her  to  yield  to  a  strong  entreaty,  as  when,  for 
instance,  you  implored  her  to  spare  your  brother 
— that  poor  fellow  about  to  fall  so  hopelessly  in 
love — " 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  my  request  did  not  come 
too  late,  after  all," said  she,  with  a  laughing  mal- 
ice in  her  eye. 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,"  retorted  he,  almost 

fiercely. 

"  Oh,  I  never  bargained  for  what  you  might  do 
in  a  moment  of  passion  or  resentment." 

"  There  is  neither  one  nor  the  other  here.  I 
am  perfectly  cool,  calm,  and  collected,  and   I   tell 

you  this,  that  whoever  your  pretty  Greek  friend  is 

to  make  a  fool  of,  it  shall  not  be  Dick  Kearney." 
"  It  might  be  very  nice  fooling,  all  the  same. 
Dick." 

"  I  know — that  is,. I  believe  I  know — what  you 
mean.  Vou  have  listened  In  some  of  those  high 
heroics  she  ascends  to  in  Bhowing  what  the  exal- 
tation of  a  great  passion  can  make  of  any  man  who 

has  ;1  breast  capable  of  emotion,  and  you  want  to 
see  the  experiment  tried  in  its  least  favorable  con- 
ditions, on  a  cold,  soulless,  selfish  fellow  of  my 
own   older;    but,  take    my  word    for   it,  Kate,   i: 

would    prove   a   si i'    lo-s    of   time   to    u-    both. 

Whatever  she  might  make  of  me,  it  would  not  be 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


a  hero ;  and  whatever  I  should  strive  for,  it  would 
not  be  her  love." 

"  I  don't  think  I'd  say  that  if  I  were  a  man." 

He  made  no  answer  to  these  words,  but  arose 
and  walked  the  room  with  hasty  steps.  "  It  was 
not  about  these  things  I  came  here  to  talk  to  you, 
Kitty,"  said  he,  earnestly.  "  I  had  my  head  full 
of  other  things,  and  now  I  can  not  remember 
them.  Only  one  occurs  to  me.  Have  you  got 
any  money  ?  I  mean  a  mere  trifle — enough  to 
pay  my  fare  to  town  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  I  have  that  much,  Dick  ;  but  you 
are  surely  not  going  to  leave  us  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  suddenly  remembered  I  must  be  up 
for  the  last  day  of  term  in  Trinity.  Knocking 
about  here — I'll  scarcely  say  amusing  myself — I 
had  forgotten  all  about  it.  Atlee  used  to  jog  my 
memory  on  these  things  when  he  was  near  me, 
and  now,  being  away,  I  have  contrived  to  let  the 
whole  escape  me.  You  can  help  me,  however, 
with  a  few  pounds  ?" 

"I  have  got  five  of  my  own,  Dick ;  but  if  you 
want  more — " 

"  No,  no ;  I'll  borrow  the  five  of  your  own,  and 
don't  blend  it  with  more,  or  I  may  cease  to  regard 
it  as  a  debt  of  honor." 

"  And  if  you  should,  my  poor  dear  Dick — " 

"I'd  be  only  pretty  much  what  I  have  ever 
been,  but  scarcely  wish  to  be  any  longer,"  and  he 
added  the  last  words  in  a  whisper.  "  It's  only 
to  be  a  brief  absence,  Kitty,"  said  he,  kissing  her  ; 
"  so  say  good-by  for  me  to  the  others,  and  that  I 
shall  be  soon  back  again." 

"  Shall  I  kiss  Nina  for  you,  Dick?" 

"  Do  ;  and  tell  her  that  I  gave  you  the  same 
commission  for  Miss  O'Shea,  and  was  grieved  that 
both  should  have  been  done  by  deputy!" 

And  with  this  he  hurried  away. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A    HAP-HAZARD    VICEROY. 

When  the  Government  came  into  office,  they 
were  sorely  puzzled  where  to  find  a  lord-lieuten- 
ant for  Ireland.  It  is,  unhappily,  a  post  that  the 
men  most  fitted  for  generally  refuse,  while  the 
Cabinet  is  besieged  by  a  class  of  applicants  whose 
highest  qualification  is  a  taste  for  mock  royalty 
combined  with  an  encumbered  estate. 

Another  great  requisite,  besides  fortune  and  a 
certain  amount  of  ability,  was  at  this  time  looked 
for.  The  Premier  was  about,  as  newspapers  call 
it  "to  inaugurate  a  new  policy,"  and  he  wanted  a 
man  who  knew  nothing  about  Ireland !  Now,  it 
might  be  carelessly  imagined  that  here  was  one 
of  those  essentials  very  easily  supplied.  Any  man 
frequenting  club-life  or  dining  out  in  town  could 
have  safely  pledged  himself  to  tell  off  a  score  or 
two  of  eligible  viceroys,  so  far  as  this  qualification 
went.  The  minister,  however,  wanted  more  than 
mere  ignorance  :  he  wanted  that  sort  of  indiffer- 
ence on  which  a  character  for  impartiality  could 
so  easily  be  constructed.  Not  alone  a  man  un- 
acquainted with  Ireland,  but  actually  incapable 
of  being  influenced  by  an  Irish  motive  or  affect- 
ed by  an  Irish  view  of  any  thing. 

Good  luck  would  have  it  that  he  met  such  a 
man  at  dinner.  He  was  an  embassador  at  Con- 
stantinople, on  leave  from  his  post,  and  so  utter- 
ly dead  to  Irish  topics  as  to  be  uncertain  whether 


O'Donovan  Rossa  was  a  Fenian  or  a  queen's  coun- 
sel, and  whether  he  whom  he  had  read  of  as  the 
"Lion  of  Judah"was  the  king  of  beasts  or  the 
Archbishop  of  Tuam ! 

The  minister  was  pleased  with  his  new  ac- 
quaintance, and  talked  much  to  him,  and  long. 
He  talked  well,  and  not  the  less  well  that  his  list- 
ener was  a  fresh  audience,  who  heard  every  thing 
for  the  first  time,  and  with  all  the  interest  that  at- 
taches to  a  new  topic.  Lord  Danesbury  was,  in- 
deed, that  "  sheet  of  white  paper"  the  head  of  the 
Cabinet  had  long  been  searching  for,  and  he 
hastened  to  inscribe  him  with  the  characters  he 
wished. 

"You  must  go  to  Ireland  for  me,  my  lord," 
said  the  minister.  "  I  have  met  no  one  as  yet 
so  rightly  imbued  with  the  necessities  of  the  sit- 
uation.    You  must  be  our  viceroy." 

Now,  though  a  very  high  post  and  with  great 
surroundings,  Lord  Danesbury  had  no  desire  to 
exchange  his  position  as  an  embassador,  even  to 
become  a  lord-lieutenant.  Like  most  men  who 
have  passed  their  lives  abroad,  he  grew  to  like 
the  ways  and  habits  of  the  Continent.  He  liked 
the  easy  indulgences  in  many  things,  he  liked  the 
cosmopolitanism  that  surrounds  existence,  and 
even  in  its  littleness  is  not  devoid  of  a  certain 
breadth ;  and  best  of  all,  he  liked  the  vast  inter- 
ests at  stake,  the  large  questions  at  issue,  the  for- 
tunes of  States,  the  fate  of  Dynasties !  To  come 
down  from  the  great  game,  as  played  by  kings 
and  kaisers,  to  the  small  traffic  of  a  local  govern- 
ment, wrangling  over  a  road^bill  or  disputing  over 
a  harbor,  seemed  too  horrible  to  confront,  and 
he  eagerly  begged  the  minister  to  allow  him  to 
return  to  his  post,  and  not  risk  a  hard-earned 
reputation  on  a  new  and  untried  career. 

"  It  is  precisely  from  the  fact  of  its  being  new 
and  untried  I  need  you,"  was  the  reply,  and  his 
denial  was  not  accepted. 

Refusal  was  impossible  ;  and,  with  all  the  re- 
luctance a  man  consents  to  what  his  convictions 
are  more  opposed  to  even  than  his  reasons,  Lord 
Danesbury  gave  in,  and  accepted  the  viceroyalty 
of  Ireland. 

He  was  deferential  to  humility  in  listening  to 
the  great  aims  and  noble  conceptions  of  the  mighty 
minister,  and  pledged  himself — as  he  could  safely 
do — to  become  as  plastic  as  wax  in  the  powerful 
hands  which  were  about  to  remodel  Ireland. 

He  was  gazetted  in  due  course,  went  over  to 
Dublin,  made  a  State  entrance,  received  the  usual 
deputations,  complimented  every  one,  from  the 
Provost  of  Trinity  College  to  the  Chief  Commis- 
sioner of  Pipewater ;  praised  the  coast,  the  cor- 
poration, and  the  city  ;  declared  that  he  had  at 
length  reached  the  highest  goal  of  his  ambition ; 
entertained  the  high  dignitaries  at  dinner;  and 
the  week  after  retired  to  his  ancestral  seat  in 
North  Wales,  to  recruit  after  his  late  fatigue,  and 
throw  off  the  effects  of  that  damp,  moist  climate 
which  already,  he  fancied,  had  affected  him. 

He  had  been  sworn  in  with  every  solemnity  of 
the  occasion ;  he  had  sat  on  the  throne  of  state, 
named  the  officers  of  his  household,  made  a  mas- 
ter of  the  horse,  and  a  state  steward,  and  a  grand 
chamberlain;  and,  till  stopped  by  hearing  that 
he  could  not  create  ladies  and  maids  of  honor,  he 
fancied  himself  every  inch  a  king  ;  but  now  that 
he  had  got  over  to  the  tranquil  quietude  of  his 
mountain  home,  his  thoughts  went  away  to  the 
old  channels,  and  he  began  to  dream  of  the  Rus- 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


67 


dans  in  tlic  Balkan  and  the  Greeks  in  Thessaly. 

Of  all  the  precious  schemes  thai  had   taken   him 

months  to  weave,  what  was  to  comeof  then  now  ' 

How  and  with  what  would  his  successor,  whoever 

he  should  be,  oppose  the  rogueries  of  Sumayloff 

or  the  chicanery  oflgnatief ;  what  would  any  man 
not  trained  to  the  especial  watchfulness  of  this 

subtle  game  know  of  the  steps  by  which  men  ad- 
vanced ?  Who  was  to  watch  Bulgaria,  and  see 
how  far  Kussian  gold  was  embellishing  the  life  of 
Athens?  There  was  not  a  hungry  agent  that 
lounged  about  the  Kussian  embassy  in  Greek  pet- 
ticoats and  pistols  whose  photograph  the  English 
embassador  did  not  possess,  with  a  biographical 
note  at  the  hack  to  tell  the  fellow's  name  and 
birth  place,  what  lie  was  meant  for  and  what  he 
cost.  Of  every  interview  of  his  countrymen  with 
the  Grand  Vizier  lie  was  kept  fully  informed:  and 
whether  a  forage  magazine  was  established  on  the 
Pruth,  or  a  new  frigate  laid  down  at  Nikolaief,  j 
the  news  reached  him  by  the  time  it  arrived  at  i 
St.  Petersburg.  It  is  true  he  was  aware  how  ] 
hopeless  it  was  to  write  home  about  these  things. 
The  embassador  who  writes  disagreeable  dispatch- 
es is  a  bore  or  an  old  woman.  He  who  dares  to 
shake  the  security  by  which  we  daily  boast  we  are 
surrounded  is  an  alarmist,  if  not  worse.  Not- 
withstanding this,  he  held  his  cards  well  "up," 
and  played  them  shrewdly.  And  now  he  was  to 
turn  from  this  crafty  game,  with  all  its  excite- 
ment, to  pore  over  constabulary  reports  and  snub 
justices  of  the  peace  ! 

But  there  was  worse  than  this.  There  was  an 
Albanian  spy,  who  hail  been  much  employed  by 
him  of  late,  a  clever  fellow,  with  access  to  socie- 
ty, and  great  facilities  for  obtaining  information. 
Seeing  that  Lord  Danesbury  should  not  return 
to  the  embassy,  would  this  fellow  go  over  to  the 
enemy  ?  If  so.  there  were  no  words  for  the  mis- 
chief he  might  effect.  By  a  subordinate  position 
in  a  (ireek  government  office,  he  had  often  been 
selected  to  convey  dispatches  to  Constantinople, 
and  it  was  in  this  way  his  lordship  first  met  him  ; 
and  as  the  fellow  frankly  presented  himself  with 
a  very  momentous  piece  of  news,  he  at  once 
showed  how  he  trusted  to  British  faith  not  to  be- 
tray him.  It  was  not  alone  the  incalculable  mis- 
chief such  a  man  might  do  by  change  of  alle- 
giance, but  the  whole  fabric  on  which  Lord  Danes- 
bury  s  reputation  rested  was  in  this  man's  keep- 
ing; and  of  all  that  wondrous  prescience  on  which 
he  used  to  pride  himself  before  the  world,  all  the 
skill  with  which  he  baffied  an  adversary,  and  all 
the  tact  with  which  he  overwhelmed  a  colleague, 
this  Bame  " Speridionides''  could  give  the  secret 
and  Bhow  the  trick. 

How  much  more  constantly,  then,  did  his  lord- 
ship's thoughts  revert  to  the  Bosphorus  than  the 
Liffey  !  All  this  home  news  was  mean,  common- 
place, and  vulgar.  The  whole  drama — scenery,  j 
actors,  plot — all  were  low  and  ignoble  ;  and  as 
for  this  '•  something  that  was  to  be  done  for  Ire- 
land," it  would  of  course  be  some  slowly  germi- 
nating policy  to  take  root  now,  and  blossom  in 
another  half  century  :  one  of  those  blessed  parlia- 
mentary enactments  which  men  who  dealt  in  he. 
roic  remedies  like  himself  regarded  as  the  chronic 
placebo  of  tbe  political  quack. 

•"  I  am  well  aware.''  cried  he.  aloud,  "  for  what 
they  are  sending  me  over.  I  am  to  '  make  a 
case'  in  Ireland  tor  a  political  legislation,  and  the 
bill  is  already  drawn  and  ready  ;  and  while  I  am 


demonstrating  to  Irish  Churchmen  that  they  will 

In'  more  pious  without  a   religion,   and  the  land- 
lords   richer    without    rent,  the    Russians  will  be 

mounting  guard  at   tin-  Golden  Horn,  and  the 
last  British  squadron  Bteamingdown  the  Levant.'' 
It  was  in  a  temper  kindled  by  these  reflections 
he  wrote  this  note: 

"PLMNunnia  Castle,  Nobtii  Walks. 

"Dear  WaIPOLB,  —  I  can  make  nothing  out 
of  the  papers  you  have  sen1  me;  nor  am  I  able  to 
discriminate  between  what  you  admit  to  be  news- 
paper slander  and  the  attack  on  the  castle  with 
the  unspeakable  name.  At  all  events,  your  account 
is  far  too  graphic  for  the  Treasury  lords,  who 
have  less  of  the  pictorial  about  them  than  Mr. 
Mudie's  subscribers.  If  the  Irish  peasants  are  so 
impatient  to  assume  their  rights  that  they  will  not 
wait  for  the  "  Ilatt-lloumaiotin,"or  Bill  in  Par- 
liament that  is  to  endow  them,  I  suspect  a  little 
farther  show  of  energy  might  save  us  a  debate 
and  a  third  reading.  I  am,  however,  for  more 
eager  for  news  from  Therapia.  Tolstai  has  been 
twice  over  with  dispatches:  and  Boustikoff,  pre- 
tending to  have  sprained  his  ankle,  can  not  leave 
Odessa,  though  I  have  ascertained  that  he  has 
laid  down  new  lines  of  fortification,  and  walked 
oxer  twelve  miles  per  day.  You  may  have  heard 
of  the  great  'Speridionides,'  a  scoundrel  that 
supplied  me  with  intelligence.  I  should  like 
much  to  get  him  over  here  while  I  am  on  my 
leave,  confer  with  him,  and,  if  possible,  save  him 
from  the  necessity  of  other  engagements.  It  is  not 
every  one  could  be  trusted  to  deal  with  a  man  of 
this  stamp,  nor  would  the  fellow  himself  easily 
hold  relations  with  any  but  a  gentleman.  Are 
you  sufficiently  recovered  from  your  sprained  arm 
to  undertake  this  journey  for  me?  If  so,  come 
over  at  once,  that  I  may  give  you  all  necessa- 
ry indications  as  to  the  man  and  his  where- 
abouts. 

"  Maude  has  been  '  on  the  sick-list,'  but  is  bet- 
ter, and  able  to  ride  out  to-day.  I  can  not  till 
the  law  appointments  till  I  go  over,  nor  shall  I  go 
over  till  I  can  not  help  it.  The  Cabinet  is  scat- 
tered over  the  Scotch  lakes.  C.  alone  in  town, 
and  preparing  for  the  War  Ministry  by  practicing 
the  goose-step.  Telegraph,  if  possible,  that  you 
are  coming,  and  believe  me  yours, 

"Danesbury." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

TWO  FRIENDS  AT  BREAKFAST. 

Irishmen  may  reasonably  enough  travel  for 
climate  ;  they  need  scarcely  go  abroad  in  search 
of  scenery.  Within  even  a  very  short  distance 
from  the  capital  there  are  landscapes  which,  for 
form,  outline,  and  color,  equal  some  of  the  mosl 
celebrated  spots  of  Continental  beauty. 

One  of  these  is  the  view  from  Bray  Head  met 
the  wide  expanse  of  the  bay  of  Dublin,  with 
Howth  and  Lambay  in  the  far  distance.  Nearer 
at  band  lies  the  sweep  of  that  graceful  shore  to 
Killiney,  with  the  Dnlkey  Islands  dotting  thecalm 
sea  ;  while  inland,  in  wild  confusion,  arc  grouped 

the  Wicklow  Mountains,  massive  with  wood  and 
teeming  with  a  rich  luxuriance. 

When  BOIllighl  and  BtUlriesfl  spread  color  over 
the  blue  mirror  of  the  sen  —as  is  essential  to  the 


68 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


scene — I  know  of  nothing,  not  even  Naples  or 
Amalfi,  can  surpass  this  marvelous  picture. 

It  was  on  a  terrace  that  commanded  this  view 
that  Walpole  and  Atlce  sat  at  breakfast  on  a  calm 
autumnal  morning  ;  the  white-sailed  boats  scarce- 
ly creeping  over  their  shadows;  and  the  whole 
scene,  in  its  silence  and  softened  effect,  presenting 
a  picture  of  almost  rapturous  tranquillity. 

"  With  half  a  dozen  days  like  this,"  said  At- 
lee,  as  he  smoked  his  cigarette  in  a  sort  of  lan- 
guid grace,  "one  would  not  say  O'Connell  was 
wrong  in  his  glowing  admiration  for  Irish  scen- 
ery. If  I  were  to  wake  every  day  for  a  week  to 
this,  I  suspect  I  should  grow  somewhat  crazy 
myself  about  the  green  island." 

"And  dash  the  description  with  a  little  trea- 
son too,"  said  the  other,  superciliously.  "  I  have 
always  remarked  the  ingenious  connection  with 
which  Irishmen  bind  up  a  love  of  the  picturesque 
witli  a  hate  of  the  Saxon. " 

"Why  not?  they  are  bound  together  in  the 
same  romance.  Can  you  look  on  the  l'arthenon 
and  not  think  of  the  Turk?" 

"  Apropos  of  the  Turk,"  said  the  other,  laying 
his  hand  on  a  folded  letter  which  lay  before  him, 
"here's  a  long  letter  from  Lord  Danesbury  about 
that  wearisome  'Eastern  question,'  as  they  call 
the  ten  thousand  issues  that  await  solution  on 
the  Bosphorus.  Do  you  take  interest  in  these 
things?" 

"Immensely.  After  I  have  blown  myself 
with  a  sharp  burst  on  Home  politics  I  always 
t:ike  a  canter  among  the  Druses  and  the  Leba- 
1  ites ;  and  I  am  such  an  authority  on  the  '  Grand 
idea'  that  Kansgabe  refers  to  me  as  'the  illus- 
trious statesman  whose  writings  relieve  England 
from  the  stain  of  universal  ignorance  about 
Greece.' " 

"  And  do  you  know  any  thing  on  the  subject  ?" 

"About  as  much  as  the  present  cabinet  does 
of  Ireland.  I  know  all  the  clap-traps  :  the  grand 
traditions  that  have  sunk  down  into  a  present 
barbarism — of  course  through  ill  government ; 
the  noble  instincts  depraved  by  gross  ill  usage. 
I  know  the  inherent  love  of  freedom  we  cherish, 
which  makes  men  resent  rents  as  well  as  laws, 
and  teaches  that  taxes  are  as  great  a  tyranny  as 
the  rights  of  property." 

"And  do  the  Greeks  take  this  view  of  it?" 

"Of  course  they  do;  and  it  was  in  experi- 
menting on  them  that  your  great  ministers  learn- 
ed how  to  deal  with  Ireland.  There  was  but 
one  step  from  Thebes  to  Tipperary.  Corfu  was 
'  pacified' — that's  the  phrase  for  it — by  abolish- 
ing the  landlords.  The  peasants  were  told  they 
might  spare  a  little  if  they  liked  to  the  ancient 
possessor  of  the  soil ;  and  so  they  took  the 
ground,  and  they  gave  him  the  olive-trees.  You 
may  imagine  how  fertile  these  were  when  the 
soil  around  them  was  utilized  to  the  last  fraction 
of  productiveness." 

"  is  that  a  fair  statement  of  the  case?" 

"Can  you  ask  the  question?  I'll  show  it  to 
you  in  print." 

"  Perhaps  written  by  yourself." 

"And  why  not?  What  convictions  have  not 
broken  on  my  mind  by  reading  my  own  writings  ? 
You  smile  at  this  ;  but  how  do  you  know  your 
face  is  clean  till  you  look  in  a  glass  ?" 

Walpole,  however,  had  ceased  to  attend  to  the 
speaker,  and  was  deeply  engaged  with  the  letter 
before  him. 


"I  see  here,"  cried  he,  "his  Excellency  is 
good  enough  to  say  that  some  mark  of  royal  fa- 
vor might  be  advantageously  extended  to"  those 
Kilgobbin  people  in  recognition  of  their  heroic 
defense.     What  should  it  be,  is  the  question." 

"Confer  on  him  the  peerage,  perhaps." 

"  That  is  totally  out  of  the  question." 

"  It  was  Kate  Kearney  made  the  defense ;  why 
not  give  her  a  commission  in  the  army  ? — make 
it  another  'woman's  right.'" 

"  You  are  absurd,  Mr.  Atlee." 

"Suppose  you  endowed  her  out  of  the  Con- 
solidated Eund  ?  Give  her  twenty  thousand 
pounds,  and  I  can  almost  assure  you  that  a  very 
clever  fellow  I  know  will  marry  her." 

"  A  strange  reward  for  good  conduct." 

"A  prize  of  virtue.  They  have  that  sort  of 
thing  in  Erance,  and  they  say  it  gives  a  great 
support  to  purity  of  morals." 

"Young  Kearney  might  accept  something,  if 
we  knew  what  to  offer  him." 

"  I'd  say  a  pair  of  black  trowsers  ;  for  I  think 
I'm  now  wearing  his  last  in  that  line." 

"Mr.  Atlee,"  said  the  other,  grimly,  "let  me 
remind  you  once  again  that  the  habit  of  light 
jesting — 'persiflage' — is  so  essentially  Irish,  you 
should  keep  it  for  your  countrymen  ;  and  if  yon 
persist  in  supposing  the  career  of  a  private  sec- 
retary suits  you,  this  is  an  incongruity  that  will 
totally  unfit  you  for  the  walk." 

"  I  am  sure  you  know  your  countrymen,  Sir, 
and  I  am  grateful  for  the  rebuke." 

Walpole's  cheek  flushed  at  this,  and  it  was 
plain  that  there  was  a  hidden  meaning  in  the 
words  which  he  felt  and  resented. 

"I  do  not  know,"  continued  Walpole,  "if  I 
am  not  asking  you  to  curb  one  of  the  strongest 
impulses  of  your  disposition  ;  but  it  rests  entirely 
with  yourself  whether  my  counsel  be  worth  fol- 
lowing." 

"  Of  course  it  is,  Sir.  I  shall  follow  your  ad- 
vice to  the  letter,  and  keep  all  my  good  spirits 
and  my  bad  manners  for  my  countrymen." 

It  was  evident  that  Walpole  had  to  exercise 
some  strong  self-control  not  to  reply  sharply; 
but  he  refrained,  and  turned  once  move  to  Lord 
Danesbury's  letter,  in  which  he  was  soon  deeply 
occupied.  At  last  he  said:  "His  Excellency 
wants  to  send  me  out  to  Turkey,  to  confer  with 
a  man  with  whom  he  has  some  confidential  re- 
lations. It  is  quite  impossible  that,  in  my  present 
state  of  health,  I  could  do  this.  Would  the  thing 
suit  you,  Atlee — that  is,  if,  on  consideration,  I 
should  opine  that^oa  would  suit  it?" 

"  I  suspect,"  replied  Atlee,  but  with  every 
deference  in  his  manner,  "if  you  would  enter- 
tain the  last  part  of  the  contingency  first,  it  would 
be  more  convenient  to  each  of  us.  I  mean 
whether  1  were  fit  for  the  situation." 

"Well,  perhaps  so,"  said  the  other,  carelessly ; 
"it  is  not  at  all  impossible  it  may  be  one  of  the 
things  you  would  acquit  yourself  well  in.  It  is 
a  sort  of  exercise  for  tact  and  discretion — an  oc- 
casion in  which  that  light  hand  of  yours  would 
have  a  field  for  employment,  and  that  acute  skill 
in  which  I  know  you  pride  yourself,  as  regards 
reading  character — " 

"You  have  certainly  piqued  my  curiosity," 
said  Atlee. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  ought  to  have  said  so 
much ;  for,  after  all,  it  remains  to  be  seen 
whether  Lord  Danesburv  would  estimate  these 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


gifts  of  yonn  as  highly  :is  I  do.  What  I  think 
of  doing  is  this :  l  shall  Bend  you  over  to  Ins  Ex- 
cellency in  your  capacity  as  my  own  private  sec- 
retary, to  explain  how  unfit  1  am  in  my  presenl 
disabled  condition  to  undertake  a  journey.  I 
shall  tell  my  hud  how  useful  I  have  found  your 
services  with  regard  to  Ireland,  how  much  you 
know-  of  the  country  and  the  people,  and  now 

woithv  of  trust  I  have  found  your  information 
ami  your  opinions;  and  I  Bhall  hint— hut  only 
hint,  remember — that,  for  the  mission  he  speaks 
of,  lie  might  possibly  do  worse  than  lix  upon 
yourself.  As,  of  course,  it  rests  with  him  to  be 
like-minded  with  me  or  not  upon  this  matter — 
to  take,  in  faet,  his  own  estimate  of  Mr.  Atlee 
from  his  own  experiences  of  him,  you  are  not  to 
know  any  thing  whatever  of  this  project  till  his 
[Excellency  thinks  proper  to  open  it  to  you.  You 
understand  that  ?" 

"Thoroughly." 

••  Your  mission  will  he  to  explain — when  asked 
to  explain— certain  difficulties  of  Irish  life  and 
habits,  and  if  his  lordship  should  direct  conversa- 
tion to  topics  of  the  East,  to  he  careful  to  know 
nothing  of  the  subject  whatever — mind  that." 

"  I  shall  he  careful.  I  have  read  the  '  Arabian 
Nights' — but  that's  all." 

"And  of  that  tendency  to  small  joking  and 
weak  epigram  I  would  also  caution  you  to  be- 
ware: they  will  have  no  success  in  the  quarter 
to  which  you  are  going,  and  they  will  only  dam- 
age other  qualities  which  you  might  possibly  rely 
on." 

Atlee  bowed  a  submissive  acquiescence. 

"I  don't  know  that  you'll  see  Lady  Maude 
Bickerstafie,  his  lordship's  niece"  (he  stopped 
as  if  he  had  unwittingly  uttered  an  awkward- 
ness, and  then  added; :  "  I  mean  she  has  not 
been  well,  and  may  not  appear  while  you  are  at 
the  castle;  but  if  you  should,  and  if — which  is 
not  at  all  likely,  but  still  possible — you  should 
be  led  to  talk  of  Kilgobbin  and  the  incident  that 
has  got  into  the  papers,  you  must  be  very  guard- 
ed in  all  you  say.  It  is  a  county  family  of  sta- 
tion and  repute.  We  were  there  as  visitors. 
The  ladies — I  don't  know  that  I'd  say  very  much 
of  the  ladies." 

"  Except  that  they  were  exceedingly  plain  in 
looks,  and  somewhat  jxissdes  besides,"  added  At- 
lee, gravely. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  say  that,  Sir,"  re- 
plied the  other,  stirlly.  "  If  you  are  not  bent  on 
compromising  me  by  an  indiscretion,  I  don't  per- 
ceive the'  necessity  of  involving  me  in  a  false- 
hood." 

"You  shall  be  perfectly  safe  in  my  hands," 
said  Atlee. 

••Ami  that  I  may  be  so.  say  as  little  about  me 
as  you  can.  I  know  the  injunction  has  its  dif- 
ficulties, Mr.  Atlee,  but  pray  try  and  observe  it." 

The  conversation  had  now  arrived  at  a  point 
in  which  one  angry  word  more  must  have  pro- 
duced a  rupture  between  them;  and  though  At- 
lee took  in  the  whole  situation  and  its  conse- 
quences at  a  glance,  there  was  nothing  in  tin-  easy 
jaunttness  of  hi-  manner  that  gave  any  clew  to  a 
sense  of  anxiety  or  discomfort. 

"Is  it  likely,"  asked  he  at  length,  "that  his 
Excellency  will  advert  to  the  idea  of  recognizing 
or  rewarding  these  people  for  their  brave  de- 
fence ?" 

"I  am  coming  to  that,  if  you  will  spare  me 


[a  little   patience:   Saxon   slowness  is   a  blemish 

you'll  have  to  grow  accustomed  to.     If  Lord 

Danesbury  should  know  that  you  are  an  AC 
qiiaintance  of  the  Kilgobbin  family,  and  ask  yoil 
what  would  l>e  a  suitable  mode  of  showing  how 

their  conduct  has  been  appreciated  in  a  high 

quarter,  you  should  be  prepared  With  an  an- 
swer." 

Atlee's  eyes  twinkled  with  a  malicious  drollery, 

and  he  had  to  bite  his  lips  to  repress  an  imper- 
tinence that  seemed  almost  to  master  his  pru- 
dence, and  at  last  he  said,  carelessly. 

"Dick  Kearney  might  get  something." 

"  I  suppose  you  know  that  his  qualifications 
will  be  tested.     You  bear  that  in  mind,  1  hope—" 

"  Yes.  I  was  just  turning  it  over  in  my  head, 
and  1  thought  the  best  thing  to  do  would  be  to 
make  him  a  Civil  Service  Commissioner.  They 
are  the  only  people  taken  on  trust." 

'•  You  are  severe,  Mr.  Atlee.  Have  these  gen- 
tlemen earned  this  dislike  on  your  part?" 

"  Do  you  mean  by  having  rejected  me?  No, 
that  they  have  not.  I  believe  I  could  have  sur- 
vived that;  and  if,  however,  they  had  come  to 
the  point  of  telling  me  that  they  were  content 
with  my  acquirements,  and  had  what  is  called 
'  passed'  me,  I  fervently  believe  I  should  have 
been  seized  with  an  apoplexy." 

"  Mr.  Atlee's  opinion  of  himself  is  not  a  mean 
one,"  said  Walpole,  with  a  cold  smile. 

"On  the  contrary,  Sir,  I  have  occasion  to  feel 
pretty  often  in  every  twenty-four  hours  what  an 
ignominious  part  a  man  plays  in  life  who  has  to 
affect  to  be  taught  what  he  knows  already,  to  be 
asking  the  road  where  he  has  traveled  every  step 
of  the  way,  and  to  feel  that  a  threadbare  coat 
and  broken  boots  take  more  from  the  value  of  his 
opinions  than  if  he  were  a  knave  or  a  blackleg." 

"I  don't  see  the  humility  of  all  this." 

"I  feel  the  shame  of  it,  though,"  said  Atlee; 
and  as  he  arose  and  walked  out  upon  the  terrace 
the  veins  in  his  forehead  were  swelled  and  knot- 
ted, and  his  lips  trembled  with  suppressed  pas- 
sion. 

In  a  tone  that  showed  how  thoroughly  indif- 
ferent he  felt  to  the  other's  irritation,  Walpole 
went  on  to  say  :  "  You  will,  then,  make  it  your 
business,  Mr.  Atlee,  to  ascertain  in  what  way 
most  acceptable  to  those  people  at  Kilgobbin  his 
Excellency  may  be  able  to  show  them  some  mark 
of  royal  favor — bearing  in  mind  not  to  commit 
yourself  to  any  thing  that  may  raise  great  expec- 
tations. In  fact,  a  recognition  is  what  is  intend- 
ed, not  a  reward." 

Atlee's  eyes  fell  upon  the  opal  ring,  which  he 
always  wore  since  the  day  Walpole  had  given  i' 
to  him,  and  there  was  something  so  signifi- 
cant in  the  glance  that  the  other  Bushed  as  he 
caught  it. 

"I  believe  I  appreciate  the  distinction,"  said 
Atlee,  quietly.  "  It  is  to  be  something  in  which 
the  generosity  of  the  donor  is  more  commemo- 
rated than  the  merits  of  the  person  rewarded,  and, 

consequently,  a  most  appropriate  recognition  of 

the  Celt  by  the  Saxon.  Do  you  think  I  ought 
to  go  down  to  Kilgobbin  Castle,  Sir?" 

"  I  am  not  quite  sure  about  that  ;  I'll  turn  it 
over  in  my  mind.  .Meanwhile  I'll  telegraph  to 
my  lord  that,  if  he  approves,  I  shall  send  you 
over  to  Wales;  and  you  bad  better  make  what 
arrangements  you  have  to  make  to  be  ready  to 
start  at  any  moment.  ' 


70 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"Unfortunately,  S>r,  I  have  none.  lam  in 
the  full  enjoyment  of  such  complete  destitution 
that  I  am  always  ready  to  go  any  where." 

Walpole  did  not  notice  the  words,  but  arose 
and  walked  over  to  a  writing-table  to  compose 
his  message  for  the  telegraph. 

"There,"  said  he,  as  he  folded  it,  "  have  the 
kindness  to  dispatch  this  at  once,  and  do  not  be 
out  of  the  way  about  five,  or  half  past,  when  I 
shall  expect  an  answer." 

"Am  I  free  to  go  into  town  meanwhile?" 
asked  Atlee. 

Walpole  nodded  assent  without  speaking. 

"I  wonder  if  this  sort  of  flunkevdom  be  good 
for  a  man,"  muttered  Atlee  to  himself  as  he 
sprang  down  the  stairs.  "I  begin  to  doubt  it. 
At  all  events,  I  understand  now  the  secret  of  the 
first  lieutenant's  being  a  tyrant:  he  has  once 
been  a  middy.  And  so  I  say,  let  me  only  reach 
the  ward-room,  and  Heaven  help  the  cockpit!" 


CHAPTER  XXV. 
atlee's  embarrassment. 

When  Atlee  returned  to  dress  for  dinner  he 
was  sent  for  hurriedly  by  Walpole,  who  told  him 
that  Lord  Danesbury's  answer  had  arrived,  with 
the  order,  "Send  him  over  at  once,  and  write 
fully  at  the  same  time." 

/'  There  is  an  eleven-o'clock  packet,  Atlee,  to- 
night,"-said  he :  "  you  must  manage  to  start  by 
that.  You'll  reach  Hollyhead  by  four  or  there- 
about, andean  easily  get  to  the  castle  by  mid-day." 

"  I  wish  I  had  had  a  little  more  time,"  muttered 
the  other.  "If  I  am  to  present  myself  before 
his  Excellency  in  such  a  '  rig'  as  this — " 

"I  have  thought  of  that.  We  are  nearly  of 
the  same  size  and  build ;  you  are,  perhaps,  a 
trifle  taller,  but  nothing  to  signify.  Now  Buck- 
master  has  just  sent  me  a  mass  of  things  of  all 
sorts  from  town;  they  are  in  my  dressing-room, 
not  yet  unpacked.  Go  up  and  look  at  them  after 
dinner  :  take  what  suits  you — as  much — all,  if 
you  like — but  don't  delay  now.  It  only  wants  a 
few  minutes  of  seven  o'clock." 

Atlee  muttered  his  thanks  hastily,  and  went 
his  way.  If  there  was  a  thoughtfulness  in  the 
generosity  of  this  action,  the  mode  in  which  it 
was  performed,  the  measured  coldness  of  the 
words,  the  look  of  impassive  examination  that 
accompanied  them,  and  the  abstention  from  any 
thing  that  savored  of  explanation  or  apology  for 
a  liberty — were  all  deeply  felt  by  the  other. 

It  was  true,  Walpole  had  often  heard  him  tell 
of  the  freedom  with  which  he  had  treated  Dick 
Kearney's  wardrobe,  and  how  poor  Dick  was 
scarcely  sure  he  could  call  an  article  of  dress  his 
own  whenever  Joe  had  been  the  first  to  go  out  into 
the  town.  The  innumerable  straits  to  which  he 
reduced  that  unlucky  chum,  who  had  actually  to 
deposit  a  dinner  suit  at  a  hotel  to  save  it  from 
Atlee's  rapacity,  had  amused  Walpole ;  but  then 
these  things  were  all  done  in  the  spirit  of  the 
honest  familiarity  that  prevailed  between  them — 
the  tie  of  true  camaraderie  that  neither  suggested 
a  thought  of  obligation  on  one  side  nor  of  painful 
inferiority  on  the  other.  Here  it  was  totally  dif- 
ferent. These  men  did  not  live  together  with  that 
daily  interchange  of  liberties  which,  with  all  their 
passing  contentions,  so  accustom  people  to  each 


other's  humors  as  to  establish  the  soundest  and 
strongest  of  all  friendships.  Walpole  had  adopt- 
ed Atlee  because  he  found  him  useful  in  a  variety 
of  ways.  He  was  adroit,  ready-witted,  and  in- 
telligent ;  a  half  explanation  sufficed  with  him 
on  any  thing — a  mere  hint  was  enough  to  give 
him  for  an  interview  or  a  reply.  He  read  people 
readily,  and  rarely  failed  to  profit  by  the  knowl- 
edge. Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  great  blem- 
ish of  his  manner— his  snobbery — Walpole  rather 
liked  than  disliked  it.  It  was  a  sort  of  qualify- 
ing element  that  satisfied  him,  as  though  it  said, 
"  With  all  that  fellow's  cleverness,  he  is  not '  one 
of  us.'  He  might  make  a  wittier  reply,  or  write 
a  smarter  note ;  but  society  has  its  little  tests — 
not  one  of  which  he  could  respond  to."  And 
this  was  an  inferiority  Walpole  loved  to  cherish 
and  was  pleased  to  think  over. 

Atlee  felt  that  Walpole  might,  with  very  little 
exercise  of  courtesy,  have  dealt  more  consider- 
ately by  him. 

"I  am  not  exactly  a  valet,"  muttered  he  to 
himself,  "to  whom  a  man  flings  a  waistcoat  as 
he  chucks  a  shilling  to  a  portei\  I  am  more  than 
Mr.  Walpole's  equal  in  many  things,  which  are 
not  accidents  of  fortune. " 

He  knew  scores  of  things  he  could  do  better 
than  him ;  indeed,  there  were  very  few  he  could 
not. 

Poor  Joe  was  not,  however,  aware  that  it  was 
in  the  "not  doing"  lay  Walpole's  secret  of  supe- 
riority ;  that  the  inborn  sense  of  abstention  is  the 
great  distinguishing  element  of  the  class  Walpole 
belonged  to ;  and  he  might  harass  himself  for- 
ever and  yet  never  guess  where  it  was  that  the 
distinction  evaded  him. 

Atlee's  manner  at  dinner  was  unusually  cold 
and  silent.  He  habitually  made  the  chief  efforts 
of  conversation  ;  now  he  spoke  little  and  seldom. 
When  Walpole  talked  it  was  in  that  careless 
discursive  way  in  which  it  was  his  wont  to  dis- 
cuss matters  with  a  familiar.  He  often  put  ques- 
tions, and  as  often  went  ou  without  waiting  for 
the  answers. 

As  they  sat  over  the  dessert  and  were  alone 
he  adverted  to  the  other's  mission,  throwing  out 
little  hints  and  cautions  as  to  manner,  which  At- 
lee listened  to  in  perfect  silence,  and  without  the 
slightest  sign  that  could  indicate  the  feeling  they 
produced. 

"You  are  going  into  a  new  country,  Atlee," 
said  he  at  last,  "  and  I  am  sure  you  will  not  be 
sorry  to  learn  something  of  the  geography." 

"  Though  it  may  mar  a  little  of  the  adventure," 
said  the  other,  smiling. 

"Ah,  that's  exactly  what  I  want  to  warn  you 
against.  With  us  in  England  there  are  none 
of  those  social  vicissitudes  you  are  used  to  here. 
The  game  of  life  is  played  gravely,  quietly,  and 
calmly.  There  are  no  brilliant  successes  of  bold 
talkers,  no  coups  de  theatre  of  amusing  racon- 
teurs :  no  one  tries  to  push  himself  into  any  po- 
sition of  eminence." 

A  half  movement  of  impatience,  as  Atlee 
pushed  his  wine-glass  before  him,  arrested  the 
speaker.  "  I  perceive,"  said  he,  stiffly,  "you  re- 
gard my  counsels  as  unnecessary." 

"Not  that,  Sir,  so  much  as  hopeless,"  rejoined 
the  other,  coldly. 

"  His  Excellency  will  ask  you,  probably,  some 
questions  about  this  country:  let  me  warn  you 
not  to  give  him  Irish  answers." 


.OKI)  KILGOBBIN. 


71 


"I  don't  think  I  understand  you,  Sir." 

"[  mean,  don't  deal  in  any  exaggerations, 
avoid  extravagance,  and  never  be  Blap-daah." 

••oil.  these  arc  [riah,  then  ?" 

Withont  deigning  reply  to  iliis  Walpole  wont 
on:  "Of  coarse  you  have  your  remed]  for  all 
the  evils  of  Ireland.  I  never  mot  an  Irishman 
who  had  not.  Hut,  I  begyou,  Bpare  his  lordship 
your  theory,  whatever  it  is.  and  simply  answer 
the  questions  he  will  ask  you." 

"  I  will  try.  Sir.''  was  [he  meek  reply. 

"Above  all  things,  let  me  warn  you  against  a 
favorite  blander  of  yoar  conntrymen.  Don't  en- 
deavor to  explain  peculiarities  of  action  in  this 
country  by  singularities  of  race  or  origin ;  don't 
try  to  make  out  that  there  are  special  points  of 
view  held  that  are  unknown  on  the  other  side  of 
the  channel,  or  that  there  are  other  differences 
between  the  two  peoples,  except  such  as  more 
rags  and  greater  wretchedness  produce.  We 
have  got  over  that  very  venerable  and  time-hon- 
ored blunder,  and  do  not  endeavor  to  revive  it." 

"Indeed!" 

"Fact.  1  assure  you.  It  is  possible  in  some 
remote  country  house  to  chance  upon  some  anti- 
quated Tory  who  still  cherishes  these  notions ; 
but  you'll  not  find  them  among  men  of  mind  or 
intelligence,  nor  among  any  class  of  our  people." 

It  was  on  Atlee's  lip  to  ask,  "  Who  w^ere  our 
people  ?"  but  he  forbore  by  a  mighty  effort,  and 
was  silent. 

"  I  don't  know  if  I  have  any  other  cautions  to 
give  you.      Do  you  ?" 

"No,  Sir.  I  could  not  even  have  reminded 
you  of  these  if  you  had  not  yourself  remembered 
them. " 

"Oh,  I  had  almost  forgotten  it.  If  his  Ex- 
cellency should  give  you  any  thing  to  write  out 
or  to  copy,  don't  smoke  while  you  are  over  it; 
he  abhors  tobacco.  I  should  have  given  you  a 
warning  to  be  equally  careful  as  regards  Lady 
Maude's  sensibilities,  but,  on  the  whole,  I  sus- 
pect you'll  scarcely  see  her." 

"Is  that  all,  Sir?"  said  the  other,  rising. 

"  Well,  I  think  so.  I  shall  be  curious  to  hear 
how  you  acquit  yourself,  how  you  get  on  with 
his  Excellency,  and  how  he  takes  you ;  and  you 
must  write  it  all  to  me.  Ain't  you  much  too 
early?  it's  scarcely  ten  o'clock." 

"  A  quarter  past  ten ;  and  I  have  some  miles 
to  drive  to  Kingstown." 

"And  not  yet  packed,  perhaps?"  said  the 
other,  listlessly. 

"  N".  Sir;   nothing  ready." 

"  Oh  !  you'll  be  in  ample  time ;  I'll  vouch  for 
it.  You  are  one  of  the  rough-and-ready  order, 
who  are  never  late.  Not  but  in  this  sa:>ie  flurry 
of  yours  you  have  made  me  forget  sou  ething  I 
know  I  had  to  say ;  and  you  tell  me  you  can't 
remember  it  ?" 

"No.  Sir." 

"  And  yet,"  said  the  other,  sententiously,  "the 
crowning  merit  of  a  private  secretary  is  exactly 
that  sort  of  memory.  Your  intellects,  ifproper- 
ly  trained,  should  he  the  complement  of  your 
chiefs,  'flic  infinite  number  of  things  that  are 
too  small  and  too  insignificant  lor  him  are  to 
have  their  place,  duly  docketed  and  dated,  in 
your  brain  ;  and  the  very  expression  of  his  face 
should  he  an  indication  to  you  of  what  he  is 
looking  for  and  yet  can  not  remember.  Do  you 
mark  me?" 


"  Half  past  ten,"  cried  Atl.v.  as  the  clock 
chimed  on  the  mantel  piece  ;  au.l  he  hurried  awa\ 
without  another  word. 

It  was  onh  as  he  saw  the  pitiable  penury  of 
his  own  scanty  wardrobe  that  he  could  persuade 

himself  to  accept  of  W'alpolo's  offer. 

"After  all.'  he  said,  "the  loan  of  a  dreSG 
coat  may  he  the  turning-point  of  a  whole  destiny. 
Junot  sold  all  he  had  to  buy  a  sword  to  make 
his  first  campaign  ;  all  /  have  is  my  shame,  and 
here  it  goes  for  a  suit  of  clothes!  Ami  with 
these  words  he  rushed  down  to  Walpole's  dress- 
ing-room, and.  not  taking  time  to  inspect  and  se- 
lect the  contents,  carried  off  the  box  as  it  was 
with  him.  "  I'll  tell  him  all  when  I  write,"  mut- 
tered he,  as  he  drove  away. 


:-«f 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 
dick  Kearney's  chambers. 

When  Dick  Kearney  quitted  Kilgobbin  Cas- 
tle for  Dublin  he  was  very  far  from  having  any 
projects  in  his  head  excepting  to  show  his  cousin 
Nina  that  he  could  live  without  her. 

"I  believe,"  muttered  he  to  himself,  "she 
counts  upon  me  as  another  '  victim.'  These  co- 
quettish damsels  have  a  theory  that  the  'whole 
drama  of  life'  is  the  game  of  their  fascinations 
and  the  consequences  that  come  of  them,  and  that 
we  men  make  it  our  highest  ambition  to  win  them, 
ami  subordinate  all  we  do  in  life  to  their  favor. 
I  should  like  to  show  her  that  one  man  at  least 
refuses  to  yield  this  allegiance,  and  that,  whatever 
her  blandishments  do  with  others,  with  him  they 
arc  powerless." 

These  thoughts  were  his  traveling  companions 
for  nigh  fifty  miles  of  travel,  and,  like  most  trav- 
eling companions,  grew  to  be  tiresome  enough 
toward  the  end  of  the  journey. 

When  he  arrived  in  Dublin  he  was  in  no  burn- 
to  repair  to  his  quarters  in  Trinity  ;  they  were 
not  particularly  cheery  in  the  best  of  times,  and 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


now  it  was  long  vacation,  with  few  men  in  town, 
and  every  thing  sad  and  spiritless  ;  besides  this, 
he  was  in  no  mood  to  meet  Atlee,  whose  free 
and  easy  jocularity  he  knew  he  would  not  en- 
dure even  with  his  ordinary  patience.  Joe  had 
never  condescended  to  write  one  line  since  he  had 
left  Kilgobhin,  and  Dick,  who  felt  that  in  pre- 
senting him  to  his  family  he  had  done  him  im- 
mense honor,  was  proportionately  indignant  at 
this  show  of  indifference.  But,  by  the  same 
easy  formula  with  which  he  could  account  for 
any  thing  in  Nina's  conduct  by  her  "coquetry," 
he* was  able  to  explain  every  deviation  from  de- 
corum of  Joe  Atlee's  by  his  "snobbery.''  And 
it  is  astonishing  how  comfortable  the  thought 
made  him  that  this  man,  in  all  his  smartness 
and  ready  wit,  in  his  prompt  power  to  acquire, 
and  his  still  greater  quickness  to  apply  knowl- 
edge, was  after  all  a  most  consummate  snob. 

He  had  no  taste  for  a  dinner  at  commons,  so 
he  ate  his  mutton-chop  at  a  tavern,  and  went  to 
the  play.  Ineffably  bored,  he  sauntered  along 
the  almost  deserted"  streets  of  the  city,  and  just 
as  midnight  was  striking  he  turned  under  the 
arched  portal  of  the  college.  Secretly  hoping 
that  Atlee  might  be  absent,  he  iuserted  the  key 
and  entered  his  quarters. 

The  grim  old  coal  bunker  in  the  passage,  the 
silent  corridor,  and  the  dreary  room  at  the  end 
of  it  never  looked  more  dismal  than  as  he  sur- 
veyed them  now  by  the  light  of  a  little  wax  match 
he*  had  lighted  to  guide  his  way.  There  stood 
the  massive  old  table  in  the  middle,  with  its  lit- 
ter of  books  and  papers — memories  of  many  a 
headache ;  and  there  was  the  paper  of  coarse 
Cavendish,  against  which  he  had  so  often  pro- 
tested, as  well  as  a  pewter  pot — a  new  infraction 
against  propriety  since  he  had  been  away. 
Worse,  however,  than  all  assaults  on  decency 
were  a  pair  of  coarse  high-lows,  which  had  been 
placed  within  the  fender,  and  had  evidently  en- 
joyed the  fire  so  long  as  it  lingered  in  the  grate. 
"So  like  the  fellow!  so  like  him!"  was  all 
that  Dick  could  mutter,  and  he  turned  away  in 
disgust. 

As  Atlee  never  went  to  bed  till  daybreak,  it 
was  quite  clear  that  he  was  from  home,  and  as 
the  college  gates  could  not  re-open  till  morning, 
Dick  was  not  sorry  to  feel  that  he  was  safe  from 
all  intrusion  for  some  hours.  With  this  consola- 
tion he  betook  him  to  his  bedroom,  and  proceed- 
ed to  undress.  Scarcely,  however,  had  he  thrown 
off  his  coat  than  a  heavy,  long-drawn  respiration 
startled  him.  He  stopped  and  listened  :  it  came 
again,  and  from  the  bed.  He  drew  nigh,  and 
there,  to  his  amazement,  on  his  own  pillow,  lay  a 
massive  head  of  a  coarse-looking,  vulgar  man  of 
about  thirty,  with  a  silk  handkerchief  fastened 
over  it  as  a  night-cap.  A  brawny  arm  lay  out- 
side the  bedclothes,  with  an  enormous  hand  of 
very  questionable  cleanness,  though  one  of  the 
fingers  wore  a  heavy  gold  ring. 

Wishing  to  gain  what  knowledge  he  might  of 
his  guest  before  awaking  him,  Dick  turned  to 
inspect  his  clothes,  which,  in  a  wild  disorder,  lay 
scattered  through  the  room.  They  were  of  the 
very  poorest,  but  such  still  as  might  have  be- 
longed to  a  very  humble  clerk  or  a  messenger  in 
a  counting-house.  A  large  black  leather  pock- 
et-book fell  from  a  pocket  of  the  coat,  and,  in 
replacing  it,  Dick  perceived  it  was  filled  with  let- 
ters.    On  one  of  these,  as  he  closed  the  clasp, 


he  read  the  name  "  Mr.  Daniel  Donogan,  Dart- 
mouth Jail." 

"  What !"  cried  he,  "is  this  the  great  head- 
centre,  Donogan,  I  have  read  so  much  of?  and 
how  is  he  here  ?" 

Though  Dick  Kearney  was  not  usually  quick 
of  apprehension,  he  was  not  long  here  in  guess- 
ing what  the  situation  meant :  it  was  clear  enough 
that  Donogan,  being  a  friend  of  Joe  Atlee's,  had 
been  harbored  here  as  a  safe  refuge.  Of  all 
places  in  the  capital,  none  were  so  secure  from 
the  visits  of  the  police  as  the  college ;  indeed,  it 
would  have  been  no  small  hazard  for  the  public 
force  to  have  invaded  these  precincts.  Calcula- 
ting, therefore,  that  Kearney  was  little  likely  to 
leave  Kilgobbin  at  present,  Atlee  had  installed 
his  friend  in  Dick's  quarters.  The  indiscretion 
was  a  grave  one;  in  fact,  there  was  nothing — 
even  to  expulsion  itself — might  not  have  follow- 
ed on  discovery. 

"  So  like  him  !  so  like  him  !"  was  all  he  could 
mutter,  as  he  arose  and  walked  about  the  room. 
While  he  thus  mused  he  turned  into  Atlee's 
bedroom,  and  at  once  it  appeared  why  Mr.  Don- 
ogan had  been  accommodated  in  his  room.  At- 
lee's was  perfectly  destitute  of  every  thing :  bed, 
chest  of  drawers,  dressing-table,  chair,  and  bath 
were  all  gone.  The  sole  object  in  the  chamber 
was  a  coarse  print  of  a  well-known  informer  of 
the  year  '98,  "Jemmy  O'Brien,"  under  whose 
portrait  was  written,  in  Atlee's  hand,  "  Bought 
in  at  four-pence  half-penny,  at  the  general  sale, 
in  affectionate  remembrance  of  his  virtues,  by 
one  who  feels  himself  to  be  a  relative. — J.  A." 
Kearney  tore  down  the  picture  in  passion,  and 
stamped  upon  it ;  indeed,  his  indignation  with 
his  chum  had  now  passed  all  bounds  of  restraint. 
"So  like  him  in  every  thing!"  again  burst 
from  him,  in  utter  bitterness. 

Having  thus  satisfied  himself  that  he  had  read 
the  incident  aright,  he  returned  to  the  sitting- 
room,  and  at  once  decided  that  he  would  leave 
Donogan  to  his  rest  till  morning. 

"It  will  be  time  enough  then  to  decide  what 
is  to  be  done,"  thought  he. 

He  then  proceeded  to  relight   the  fire,  and, 

drawing  a  sofa  near,  he  wrapped  himself  in  a 

railway  rug  and  lay  down  to  sleep.     For  a  long 

time  he  could  not  compose  himself  to  slumber  ; 

j  he  thought  of  Nina  and  her  wiles — ay,  they  were 

(wiles:    he   saw   them  plainly  enough.     It   was 

!  true,  he  was  no  prize — no  "catch,"  as  they  call 

it — to  angle  for;    and  such  a  girl  as   she  w:;s 

could  easily  look  higher  ;  but  still  he  might  swell 

the  list  of  those  followers  she  seemed  to  like  to 

behold  at  her  feet  offering  up  every  homage  to 

her  beauty,  even  to  their  actual  despair.     And 

he  thought  of  his  own  condition — very  hopeless 

and  purposeless  as  it  was. 

"  What  a  journey,  to  be  sure,  was  life,  without 
a  goal  to  strive  for !  Kilgobbin  would  be  his  one 
day  ;  but  by  that  time  would  it  be  able  to  pay  off 
the  mortgages  that  were  raised  upon  it  ?  It  was 
true,  Atlee  was  no  richer,  but  Atlee  was  a  shifty, 
artful  fellow,  with  scores  of  contrivances  to  go 
to  windward  of  Fortune  in  even  the  very  worst 
of  weather.  Atlee  would  do  many  a  thing  he 
would  not  stoop  to." 

|  And  as  Kearney  said  this  to  himself  he  was 
cautious  in  the  use  of  his  verb,  and  never  said 
;  "  could,"  but  always  "  would"  do ;  and,  oh  dear ! 
is  it  not  in  this  fashion  that  we  many  of  us  keep 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


our  courage  ill  life,  and  attribute  to  the  want  of 
will  what  we  well  know  lies  in  the  wanl  of  power? 
Last  of  all,  he  bethought  himself  of  this  man 
Donogan — a  dangerous  fellow  in  a  certain  way, 
and  one  whose  companionship  must  be  got  nd 
of  at  an  j  juice.  Plotting  over  in  his  mind  how 
this  should  be  done  in  the  morning,  he  at  last  fell 
fast  asleep. 

So  overcome  was  he  by  slnmher  that  he  never 
awoke  when  that  venerable  institution,  called  the 
college  woman — the  hag  whom  the  virtue  of 
unerring  dons  insists  on  imposing  as  a  servant  on 
resident  students— entered,  made  up  the  fire, 
swept  the  room,  and  arranged  the  breakfast-table. 
It  was  only  as  she  jogged  his  arm  to  ask  him  for 
an  additional  penny  to  buy  more  milk  that  he 
awoke  and  remembered  where  he  was. 

••  Will  I  get  yer  honor  a  bit  of  bacon  ?"  asked 
she,  in  a  tone  intended  to  be  insinuating. 
"  Whatever  you  like,"  said  he,  drowsily. 
"It's  himself  there  likes  a  rasher — when  he 
ean  get  it."  said  she.  with  a  leer,  and  a  motion 
of  her  thumb  toward  the  adjoining  room. 

"  Whom  do  you  mean?"  asked  he.  half  to  learn 
what  and  how  much  she  knew  of  his  neighbor. 

"Oh!  don't  I  know  him  well? — Dan  Dono- 
gan." replied  she.  with  a  grin.  "Didn't  I  see 
him  in  the  dock  with  Smith  O'Brien  in  '4S,  and 
wasn't  he  in  trouble  again  after  he  got  his  par- 
don;  and  won't  he  always  be  in  trouble?'' 

"  Hush  :  don't  talk  so  loud,"  cried  Diek,  warn- 
inglv. 

"  He'd  not  hear  me  now  if  I  was  screechin'; 
it's  the  only  time  he  sleeps  hard  ;  for  he  gets  up 
about  three  or  half  past — before  it's  day — and  he 
squeezes  through  the  bars  of  the  window,  and 
gets  out  into  the  Park,  and  he  takes  his  exercise 
there  for  two  hours,  most  of  the  time  running  full 
speed  and  keeping  himself  in  fine  wind.  Do 
you  know  what  he  said  to  me  the  other  day  ? 
•.Molly.'  says  he,  'when  I  know  I  can  get  be- 
tween those  bars  there,  and  run  round  the  Col- 
lege Park  in  three  minutes  and  twelve  seconds,  I 
feel  that  there's  not  many  a  jail  in  Ireland  can 
howld,  and  the  divil  a  policeman  in  the  island 
could  catch  me.'"  And  she  had  to  lean  over 
the  back  of  a  (hair  to  steady  herself  while  she 
laughed  at  the  conceit. 

"I  think,  after  all,  "said  Kearney,  "  I'd  rather 
keep  out  of  the  scrape  than  trust  to  that  way  of 
escaping  it." 

'•//<   wouldn't,"  said  she.      "He'd  rather  be 
seducin'  the  soldiers  in  Barrack  Street,  or  swear- 
ing in  a  new  Fenian,  or  nailing  a  death-warnin' 
on  a  hail  door,  than  he'd  be  lord  mayor!     If  he 
wasn't  in  mischief  he'il  like  to  be  in  his  grave." 
"And  what  comes  of  it  all?"  said  Kearney, 
scarcely  giving  any  exact  meaning  to  his  word's. 
"That's  what  I  do  be  saying  myself,"  cried 
the  hag.      "When  they  can  transport  you    for 
singing  a  ballad,  and  Bend  you  to  jack  oakum  for 
a  green  cravat,  it's  time  to  take  to  some  other 
trade  than  patriotUm  !"    And  with  this  reflection 
she  shuttled  away  to  procure  the  materials  for 
breakfa-t. 
The  fresh  rolls,  the  water-cress,  a  couple  of  red 

herrings,  deviled  as  those  ancient  damsels  are 
exjiert  in  doing,  and  a  smoking  dish  of  rashers 
and  eggs,  flanked  by  a  hissing  tea-kettle,  -non 
made  their  appearance,  the  hag  assuring  Kear- 
ney that  a  stout  knock  with  the  poker  on  the  back 
of  the  grate  would  summon  Mr.  Donogan  almost 


instantaneously — BO    rapidly,    indeed,   and    with 

such  indifference  as  to  raiment,  that,  as  ahe  i I 

cstly  declared.   "  I  have  to  take  to  my  heels  the 
moment  I  call  him  :"  and  the  modest  avowal  was 

confirmed  by  her  hast]  departure. 

The  assurance  was  so  far  correct  that  scarcely 
had  Kearney  replaced  the  poker  when  the  door 
Opened,  and  one  of  the  strangest  figures  he  had 
ever  beheld  presented  itself  in  the  room,  lie  was 
a  short,  thickset  man  with  a  profusion  of  yellow- 
ish hair,  which,  divided  in  the  middle  of  the  head. 
hung  down  on  either  side  to  his  neck  ;  heard  and 
mustache  of  the  same  hue  left  little  of  the  face 
to  be  seen  but  a  pair  of  lustrous  blue  eves,  deep- 
sunken  in  their  orbits,  and  a  short,  wide-nos- 
triled  nose,  which  bore  the  closest  resemblance 
to  a  lion's.  Indeed,  a  most  absurd  likeness  to 
the  king  of  beasts  was  the  impression  produced 
on  Kearney  as  this  wild-looking  fellow  bounded 
forward  and  stood  there  amazed  at  finding  a 
stranger  to  confront  him. 

his  dress  was  a  flannel  shirt  and  trowsers,  and 
a  pair  of  old  slippers  which  had  once  been  Kear- 
ney's own. 

"  I  was  told  by  the  college  woman  how  I  was  to 
summon  you,  Mr.  Donogan, "said  Kearney,  good- 
naturedly.  "You're  not  offended  with  the  lib- 
erty ?" 

"Are  you  Dick?"'  asked  the  other,  coming 
forward. 

"  Yes.  I  think  most  of  my  friends  know  me 
by  that  name." 

"  And  the  old  devil  has  told  you  mine  ?"  asked 
he,  quickly. 

"No,  I  believe  I  discovered  that  for  myself. 
I  tumbled  over  some  of  your  things  last  night, 
and  saw  a  letter  addressed  to  you." 
"  You  didn't  read  it?" 

"Certainly  not.  It  fell  out  of  your  pocket- 
book,  and  I  put  it.  back  there." 

•"So  the  old  hag  didn't  blab  on  me?  I'm 
anxious  about  this,  because  it's  got  out  somehow 
that  I'm  back  again.  I  landed  at  Kemnare  in  a 
fishing-boat  from  the  New  York  packet,  the  <>s- 
prey,  on  Tuesday  fortnight,  ami  three  of  the 
new  spapers  had  it  before  I  was  a  week  on  shore.'' 
"  <  )ur  breakfast  is  getting  cold  ;  sit  down  here 
and  let  me  help  you.  Will  you  begin  with  a 
rasher  ?" 

Not  rejdying  to  the  invitation,  Donogan  cov- 
ered his  plate  with  bacon,  and  leaning  his  arm 
on  the  table,  stared  fixedly  at  Kearney. 

"  I  am  as  glad  as  fifty  pound  of  it,"  muttered 
he,  slowly,  to  himself. 
"Glad  of  what?" 

"Glad  that  you're  not  a  swell,  Mr.  Kearney." 
said  he,  gravely.  "'The  honorable  Richard 
Kearney:'  whenever  I  repeated  that  to  myself  it 
gave  me  a  cold  sweat.  I  thought  of  velvet  col- 
lars and  a  cravat  with  a  grand  pin  in  it,  and  a 
Stuck-up  creature  behind  both,  that  wouldn't  con- 
descend to  sit  down  with  me." 

"  I  am  sure  Joe  Atlee  gave  you  no  such  im- 
pression of  me." 

A  short  grunt  that  might  mean  any  thing  was 
all  the  reply. 

"  He  was  my  chum,  and  knew  me  better,"  re- 
iterated the  other. 

"  He  knows  many  a  thin;:  he  doesn't  say,  and 
he  says  plenty  that  he  doesn't  know.  '  Kearn.\ 
will  he  a  swell,'  said  I,  'and  hi' II  turn  upon  me 
just  out  of  contempt  for  my  condition.'  " 


7i 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"That  was  judging  me  hardly,  Mr.  Donogan." 

"No,  it  wasn't;  it's  the  treatment  the  mangy 
dog  meets  all  the  world  over.  Why  is  England 
insolent  to  us,  but  because  we're  poor? — answer 
me  that.  Are  we  mangy?  Don't  you  feel 
mangy  ? — I  know  /  do  !" 

Dick  smiled  a  sort  of  mild  contradiction,  but 
said  nothing.       ^     . 

"  Now  that  I  see  you,  Mr.  Kearney,"  said  the 
other,  "I'm  as  glad  as  a  ten-pound  note  about 
a  letter  I  wrote  you — " 

"  I  never  received  a  letter  from  you." 

"Sure  I  know  you  didn't!  haven't  I  got  it 
here  ?"  and  he  drew  forth  a  square-shaped  pack- 
et and  held  it  up  before  him.  "I  never  said 
that  I  sent  it,  nor  I  won't  send  it  now ;  here's  its 
present  address,"  added  he,  as  he  threw  it  on  the 
fire  and  pressed  it  down  with  his  foot. 

"Why  not  have  given  it  to  me  now?"  asked 
the  other. 

"  Because  three  minutes  will  tell  you  all  that 
was  in  it,  and  better  than  writing ;  for  I  can  re- 
ply to  any  thing  that  wants  an  explanation,  and 
that's  what  a  letter  can  not.  First  of  all,  do  you 
know  that  Mr.  Claude  Barry,  your  county  mem- 
ber, has  asked  for  the  Chiltern,  and  is  going  to 
resign  ?" 

"  No,  I  have  not  heard  it." 

"Well,  it's  a  fact.  They  are  going  to  make 
him  a  second  secretary  somewhere,  and  pension 
him  off.  He  has  done  his  work :  he  voted  an 
Arms  Bill  and  an  Insurrection  Act,  and  he  had 
the  influenza  when  the  amnesty  petition  was  pre- 
sented, and  sure  no  more  could  be  expected  from 
any  man." 

"  The  question  scarcely  concerns  me  ;  our  in- 
terest in  the  county  is  so  small  now,  we  count 
very  little. " 

"  And  don't  you  know  how  to  make  your  in- 
fluence greater?" 

"I  can  not  say  that  I  do." 

"  Go  to  the  poll  yourself,  Richard  Kearney, 
and  be  the  member." 

"You  are  talking  of  an  impossibility,  Mr. 
Donogan.  First  of  all,  we  have  no  fortune,  no 
large  estates  in  the  county,  with  a  wide  tenantry 
and  plenty  of  votes  ;  secondly,  we  have  no  place 
among  the  county  families,  as  our  old  name  and 
good  blood  might  have  given  us ;  thirdly,  we  are 
of  the  wrong  religion,  and,  I  take  it,  with  as  wrong 
politics ;  and  lastly,  we  should  not  know  what 
to  do  with  the  prize  if  we  had  won  it." 

"Wrong  in  every  one  of  your  propositions — 
wholly  wrong,"  cried  the  other.  "The  party 
that  will  send  you  in  won't  want  to  be  bribed, 
and  they'll  be  proud  of  a  man  who  doesn't  ovei-- 
top  them  with  his  money.  You  don't  need  the 
big  families,  for  you'll  beat  them.  Yonr  religion 
is  the  right  one,  for  it  will  give  you  the  Priests ; 
and  your  politics  shall  be  Repeal,  and  it  will  give 
you  the  Peasants ;  and  as  to  not  knowing  what 
to  do  when  you're  elected,  are  you  so  mighty 
well  off  in  life  that  you've  nothing  to  wish  for  ?" 

"  I  can  scarcely  say  that,"  said  Dick,  smiling. 

"Give  me  a  few  minutes'  attention,"  said 
Donogan,  ' '  and  I  think  I'll  show  you  that  I've 
thought  this  matter  out  and  out ;  indeed,  before 
I  sat  down  to  write  to  you  I  went  into  all  the 
details. " 

And  now,  with  a  clearness  and  a  fairness  that 
astonished  Kearney,  this  strange-looking  fellow 
proceeded  to  prove  how  he  had  weighed  the  whole 


difficulty,  and  saw  how,  in  the  nice  balance  of 
the  two  great  parties  who  would  contest  the  seat, 
the  Repealer  would  step  in  and  steal  votes  from 
both. 

He  showed  not  only  that  he  knew  every  bar- 
ony of  the  county,  and  every  estate  and  property, 
but  that  he  had  a  clear  insight  into  the  different 
localities  where  discontent  prevailed,  and  places 
where  there  was  something  more  than  discontent. 

"It  is  down  there,"  said  he,  significantly, 
"that  I  can  be  useful.  The  man  that  has  had 
his  foot  in  the  dock,  and  only  escaped  having  his 
head  in  the  noose,  is  never  discredited  in  Ireland. 
Talk  Parliament  and  parliamentary  tactics  to  the 
j  small  shop-keepers  in  Moate,  and  leave  me  to  talk 
treason  to  the  people  in  the  bog." 

"  But  I  mistake  you  and  your  friends  greatly," 
said  Kearney,  "if  these  were  the  tactics  you  al- 
ways followed ;  I  thought  that  you  were  the 
physical  force  party,  who  sneered  at  constitu- 
tionalism, and  only  believed  in  the  pike." 

"  So  we  did,  so  long  as  we  saw  O'Connell  and 
the  lawyers  working  the  game  of  that  grievance 
for  their  own  advantage,  and  teaching  the  En- 
glish government  how  to  rule  Ireland  by  a  system 
of  concession  to  them  and  to  their  friends.  Now, 
however,  we  begin  to  perceive  that  to  assault 
that  heavy  bastion  of  Saxon  intolerance,  we  must 
have  spies  in  the  enemy's  fortress,  and  for  this  we 
send  in  so  many  members  to  the  Whig  party. 
There  are  scores  of  men  who  will  aid  us  by  their 
vote  who  would  not  risk  a  bone  in  our  cause. 
Theirs  is  a  sort  of  subacute  patriotism ;  but  it 
has  its  use.  It  smashes  an  Established  Church, 
breaks  down  Protestant  ascendency,  destroys  the 
prestige  of  landed  property,  and  will  in  time  ab- 
rogate entail  and  primogeniture,  and  many  an- 
other fine  thing ;  and  in  this  way  it  clears  the 
ground  for  our  operations,  just  as  soldiers  fell 
trees  and  level  houses  lest  they  interfere  with  the 
range  of  heavy  artillery." 

"So  that  the  place  you  would  assign  me  is 
that  very  honorable  one  you  have  just  called  a 
'  spy  in  the  camp  ?'  " 

"By  a  figure  I  said  that,  Mr.  Kearney;  but 
you  know  well  enough  what  I  meant  was,  that 
there's  many  a  man  will  help  us  on  the  Treasury 
benches,  that  would  not  turn  out  on  Tallaght; 
and  we  want  both.  I  won't  say,"  added  he,  after 
a  pause,  "I'd  not  rather  see  you  a  leader  in  our 
ranks  than  a  Parliament  man.  I  was  bred  a 
doctor,  Mr.  Kearney,  and  I  must  take  an  illus- 
tration from  my  own  art.  To  make  a  man  sus- 
ceptible of  certain  remedies  you  are  often  obliged 
to  reduce  his  strength  and  weaken  his  constitu- 
tion. So  it  is  here.  To  bring  Ireland  into  a 
condition  to  be  bettered  by  Repeal,  you  must 
crush  the  Church  and  smash  the  bitter  Protest- 
ants. The  Whigs  will  do  these  for  us,  but  we 
must  help  them.    Do  you  understand  me  now  ?" 

"I  believe  I  do.  In  the  case  you  speak  of, 
then,  the  government  will  support  my  election." 

"  Against  a  Tory,  yes ;  but  not  against  a  pure 
Whig — a  thorough-going  supporter,  who  would 
bargain  for  nothing  for  his  country,  only  some- 
thing for  his  own  relations." 

"If  your  project  has  an  immense  fascination 
for  me  at  one  moment,  and  excites  my  ambition 
beyond  all  bounds,  the  moment  I  turn  my  mind 
to  the  cost,  and  remember  my  own  poverty,  I 
see  nothing  but  hopelessness." 

"That's  not  my  view  of  it,  nor,  when  you  listen 


1.0111)  KII.OoHlUX. 


to  me  patiently,  will  it.  I  believe,  be  yours.    Can 

we  have  another  talk  over  this  in  the  evening?" 

"To  be  Bare!  well  dine  here  together  at  six." 

••oh,  never  mind  me;  think  of  yourself,  Mr. 

Kearney,  and  your  own  engagements.    As  to  the 

matter  of  dining,  a  cruel  of  bread  and  a  couple 

of  apples  arc  fully  as  much  as  1  want  or  care  tor." 

••  We'll  dine  together  to-day  al  six."  said  Dick, 

"and  bear  in  mind  I  am  more  interested  in  this 

than  you  are." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

A    CRAFTY     COUNSELOR. 

As  they  were  about  to  sit  down  to  dinner  on 
that  day  a  telegram,  redirected  from  Kilgobbin, 

reached  Kearney's  hand.  It  bore  the  date  of 
that  morning,  from  Plmnuddm  Castle,  and  was 

signed  "  Atlee."  Its  contents  were  these  :  "H. 
E.  wants  to  mark  the  Kilgobbin  defense  with 
some  sign  of  approval.  What  shall  it  be  ?  Reply 
by  wire." 

''  Head  that,  and  tell  us  what  you  think  of  it." 

"Joe  Atlee  at  the  Viceroy's  castle  in  Wales!" 
cried  the  other.  "We  are  going  up  the  ladder 
hand  over  head.  Mr.  Kearney  !  A  week  ago  his 
ambition  was  bounded  on  the  south  by  Ship 
Street,  and  on  the  east  by  the  Lower  Castle  Yard. " 

"How  do  you  understand  the  dispatch?" 
asked  Kearney,  quickly. 

"Easily  enough.  His  Excellency  wants  to 
know  what  you'll  have  for  shooting  down  three — 
I  think  they  were  three — Irishmen." 

"  The  fellows  came  to  demand  arms,  and  with 
loaded  guns  in  their  hands." 

"And  if  they  did  !  Is  not  the  first  right  of  a 
man  the  weapon  that  defends  him  ?  He  that  can 
not  use  it  or  does  n.it  po-sess  it  is  a  slave.  By 
what  prerogative  has  Kilgobbin  Castle  within 
its  walls  what  can  take  the  life  of  any,  the  mean- 
est, tenant  on  the  estate?" 

"I  am  not  going  to  discuss  this  with  you;  I 
think  I  have  heard  most  of  it  before,  and  was  not 
impressed  when  I  did  so.  What  I  asked  was, 
what  sort  of  a  recognition  one  might  safely  ask 
for  and  reasonably  expect  ?" 

"That's  not  long  to  look  for.  Let  them  sup- 
port you  in  the  county.  Telegraph  back,  '  I'm 
going  to  stand,  and,  if  I  get  in,  will  be  a  Whig, 
whenever  I'm  not  a  Nationalist.  Will  the  party 
stand  by  me  ?' " 

"Scarcely  with  that  programme." 

"And  do  you  think  that  the  priests'  nomi- 
nees, who  are  three- fourths  of  the  Irish  members, 
otter  better  terms  ?  Do  you  imagine  that  the  men 
that  crowd  the  Whig  lobby  have  not  reserved 
their  freedom  of  action  about  the  Pope,  and  the 
Fenian  prisoners,  and  the  Orange,  processionists? 
If  they  were  not  free  so  far,  I'd  ask  you,  with  the 
old  Duke,  how  i-  her  Majesty's  government  to 
be  carried  on?" 

Kearney  shook  his  head  in  dissent 

"And  that's  not  all,"  continued  the  other; 
•'but  yon  must  write  to  the  papers  a  Hat  con- 
tradiction of  that  shooting  story.  You  must 
either  declare  that  it  never  occurred  at  all,  or 
was  done  by  that  young  scamp  from  the  Castle, 
who  happily  got  as  much  as  he  gave." 

"That  I  could  not  do,"  said  Kearney,  firmly. 

"And  ir  is  that  precisely  that  you  must  do," 
rejoined  the  other.      "If  you  go  into  the  House 


to  represent  the  popular  feeling  of  Irishmen,  the 
band  that  si^ns  the  roll  must  not  be  >tained  with 
Irish  blood.'1 

"  You  forget  ;  I  was  not  within  fifty  miles  of 
the  place" 

"And  another  reason  to  disavow  it.  Look 
here.  Mr.  Kearney:  it  a  man  in  a  battle  was  to 
say  to  himself,  I'll  never  give  any  but  a  fair  blow, 
he'd  make  a  mighty  bad  soldier.  Now  public 
life  is  a  battle,  and  worse  than  a  battle  in  al!  that 
touches  treachery  and  falsehood.  If  yon  mean 
to  do  any  good  in  the  world,  to  yourself  and 
your  country,  take  my  word  for  it.  you'll  have 
to  do  plenty  of  things  that  you  don't  like,  and. 
what's  worse,  can't  defend." 

"  The  soup  is  getting  cold  all  this  time.  Shall 
we  sit  down  ?" 

"  No,  not  till  we  answer  the  telegram.  Sit 
down  and  say  what  I  told  you. " 

"Atlee  will  say  I'm  mad.  He  knows  I  have 
not  a  shilling  in  the  world." 

"Riches  is  not  the  badge  of  the  representa- 
tion," said  the  other. 

"  They  can,  at  least,  pay  the  cost  of  the  elec- 
tions." 

"  Well,  we'll  pay  ours,  too — not  all  at  once, 
but  later  on  ;  don't  fret  yourself  about  that." 

"They'll  refuse  me  flatly." 

"No,  we  have  a  lien  on  the  fine  gentleman 
with  the  broken  arm.  What  would  the  Tories 
give  for  that  story,  told  as  I  could  tell  it  to  them? 
At  all  events,  whatever  you  do  in  life,  remember 
this— that  if  asked  your  price  for  any  thing  you 
have  done,  name  the  highest,  and  take  nothing 
if  it's  refused  you.  It's  a  waiting  race,  but  I 
never  knew  it  fail  in  the  end." 

Kearney  dispatched  his  message,  and  sat  down 
to  the  table,  far  too  much  flurried  and  excited 
to  care  for  his  dinner.  Not  so  his  guest,  who 
ate  voraciously,  seldom  raising  his  head,  and 
never  uttering  a  word.  "  Here's  to  the  new 
member  for  King's  County,"  said  he  at  last,  and 
he  drained  off  his  glass;  and  I  don't  know  a 
pleasanter  way  of  wishing  a  man  prosperity  than 
in  a  bumper.  "  Has  your  father  any  politics, 
Mr.  Kearney  ?" 

"  He  thinks  he's  a  Whig,  but,  except  hating 
the  Established  Church,  and  having  a  print  of 
Lord  Russell  over  the  lire  place,  I  don't  know  he 
has  other  reason  for  the  opinion." 

"  All  right ;  there's  nothing  finer  for  a  young 
man  entering  public  life  than  to  be  able  to  sneer 
at  his  father  for  a  noodle.  That's  the  practical 
way  to  show  contempt  for  the  wisdom  of  our  an- 
cestors. There's  no  appeal  the  public  respond 
to  with  the  same  certainty  as  that  of  the  man 
who  quarrels  with  his  relations  for  the  sake  of 
his  principles;   and  whether  it  be  a  change  in 

your  politics  or  your  religion,  they're  sure  to  up- 
hold you." 

"If  (littering  with  my  father  will  insure  suc- 

cess,  I  can  afford  to  be  confident,"  said  Dick, 

smiling. 

"  Your  sister  has  her  notions  about  Ireland, 

hasn't  she?" 

"Yes,  I  believe  she  has;    but  she  fancies  that 

laws  and  acts  of  Parliament  arc  not  the  things  in 
fault,  but  ourselves  and  our  modes  of  dealing 
with  the  people,  that  were  not  often  just,  and 
were  always  capricious.  I  am  not  sure  how  she 
works  out  her  problem,  bin  I  believe  we  OUghl 
to   educate   each   other;    and    that,  in    tarn    for 


70 


LORD  KILGOBBIX. 


teaching  the  people  to  read  and  write,  there  are 
scores  of  things  to  be  learned  from  them." 

"And  the  Greek  girl?" 

"The  Greek  girl" — began  Dick,  haughtily, 
and  with  a  manner  that  betokened  rebuke,  but 
which  suddenly  changed  as  he  saw  that  nothing 
in  the  other's  manner  gave  any  indication  of  in- 
tended freedom  or  insolence — "the  Greek  is 
my  first  cousin,  Mr.  Donogan,"  said  he,  calmly  ; 
"but  I  am  anxious  to  know  how  you  have  heard 
of  her,  or,  indeed,  of  any  of  us." 

"From  Joe — Joe  Atlee.  I  believe  we  have 
talked  you  over — every  one  of  you — till  I  know 
you  all  as  well  as  if  I  lived  in  the  Castle  and  called 
you  by  your  Christian  names.  Do  you  know, 
Mr.  Kearney" — and  his  voice  trembled  now  as 
he  spoke — "  that  to  a  lone  and  desolate  man  like 
myself,  who  has  no  home,  and  scarcely  a  coun- 
try, there  is  something  indescribably  touching  in 
the  mere  picture  of  the  fireside,  and  the  family 
gathered  round  it,  talking  over  little  homely  cares, 
and  canvassing  the  changes  of  each  day's  fortune. 
I  could  sit  here  half  the  night  and  listen  to  Atlee 
telling  how  you  lived,  and  the  sort  of  things  that 
interested  you." 

"So  that  you'd  actually  like  to  look  at  us?" 

Donogan's  eyes  grew  glassy,  and  his  lips  trem- 
bled, but  he  could  not  utter  a  word. 

"So  you  shall,  then,"  cried  Dick,  resolutely. 
"We'll  start  to-morrow  by  the  early  train.  You'll 
not  object  to  a  ten  miles'  walk,  and  well  arrive 
for  dinner." 

"  Do  you  know  who  it  is  you  are  inviting  to 
your  father's  house?  Do  you  know  that  I  am 
an  escaped  convict,  with  a  price  on  my  head  this 
minute  ?  Do  you  know  the  penalty  of  giving  me 
shelter,  or  even  what  the  law  calls  comfort  ?"' 

' '  I  know  this,  that  in  the  heart  of  the  Bog  of 
Allen  you'll  be  far  safer  than  in  the  city  of  Dub- 
lin ;  that  none  shall  ever  learn  who  you  are,  nor, 
if  they  did,  is  there  one — the  poorest  in  the  place 
— would  betray  you." 

"It  is  of  you,  Sir,  I'm  thinking,  not  of  me," 
said  Donogan,  calmly. 

"Don't  fret  yourself  about  us.  We  are  well 
known  in  our  county,  and  above  suspicion. 
Whenever  you  yourself  should  feel  that  your  pres- 
ence was  like  to  be  a  danger,  I  am  quite  willing 
to  believe  you'd  take  yourself  off." 

"You  judge  me  rightly,  Sir,  and  I'm  proud  to 
see  it ;  but  how  are  you  to  present  me  to  your 
friends?" 

"As  a  college  acquaintance — a  friend  of  At- 
lee's  and  of  mine — a  gentleman  who  occupied  the 
room  next  me.     I  can  surely  say  that  with  truth. " 

"And  dined  with  you  every  day  since  you 
knew  him.     Why  not  add  that  ?" 

He  laughed  merrily  over  this  conceit,  and  at 
last  Donogan  said,  "I've  a  little  kit  of  clothes 
— something  decenter  than  these — up  in  Thomas 
Street,  No.  13,  Mr.  Kearney;  the  old  house  Lord 
Edward  was  shot  in,  and  the  safest  place  in  Dub- 
lin now,  because  it  is  so  notorious.  I'll  step  up 
for  them  this  evening,  and  I'll  be  ready  to  start 
when  you  like." 

"Here's  good  fortune  to  us,  whatever  we  do 
next,"  said  Kearney,  filling  both  their  glasses; 
and  they  touched  the  brims  together  and  clinked 
them  before  thev  drained  them. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
"on  the  leads." 

Kate  Kearney's  room  was  on  the  top  of  the 
Castle,  and  "gave"  by  a  window  over  the  leads 
of  a  large  square  tower.  On  this  space  she  had 
made  a  little  garden  of  a  few  flowers,  to  tend 
which  was  one  of  what  she  called  her  "dissipa- 
tions." 

Some  old  packing-cases,  filled  with  mould, 
sufficed  to  nourish  a  few  stocks  and  carnations, 
a  rose  or  two,  and  a  mass  of  mignonette,  which 
possibly,  like  the  children  of  the  poor,  grew  up 
sturdy  and  healthy  from  some  of  the  adverse  cir- 
cumstances of  their  condition.  It  was  a  very  fa- 
vorite spot  with  her ;  and  if  she  came  hither  in 
her  happiest  moments,  it  was  here  also  her  sad- 
dest hours  were  passed,  sure  that  in  the  cares  and 
employments  of  her  loved  plants  she  would  find 
solace  and  consolation.  It  was  at  this  window 
Kate  now  sat  with  Nina,  looking  over  the  vast 
plain,  on  which  a  rich  moonlight  was  streaming, 
the  shadows  of  fast-flitting  clouds  throwing 
strange  and  fanciful  effects  over  a  space  almost 
wide  enough  to  be  a  prairie. 

"What  a  deal  have  mere  names  to  do  with 
our  imaginations,  Nina!"  said  Kate.  "Is  not 
that  boundless  sweep  before  us  as  fine  as  your 
boasted  Campagna  ?  Does  not  the  night  wind 
career  over  it  as  joyfully,  and  is  not  the  moon- 
light as  picturesque  in  its  breaks  by  turf-clump 
and  hillock  as  by  ruined  wall  and  tottering  tem- 
ple ?  In  a  word,  are  not  we  as  well  here,  to  drink 
in  all  this  delicious  silence,  as  if  we  were  sitting 
on  your  loved  Pincian  ?" 

"  Don't  ask  me  to  share  such  heresies.  I  see 
nothing  out  there  but  bleak  desolation.  I  don't 
know  if  it  ever  had  a  past ;  I  can  almost  swear 
it  will  have  no  future.     Let  us  not  talk  of  it." 

"  What  shall  we  talk  of?"  asked  Kate,  with 
an  arch  smile. 

"  You  know  well  enough  what  led  me  up  here. 
I  want  to  hear  what  you  know  of  that  strange 
man  Dick  brought  here  to-day  to  dinner." 

"I  never  saw  him  before — never  even  heard 
of  him." 

"Do  you  like  him?" 

"I  have  scarcely  seen  him." 

"  Don't  be  so  guarded  and  reserved.  Tell  me 
frankly  the  impression  he  makes  on  you.  Is  he 
not  vulgar — very  vulgar?" 

"  How  should  I  say,  Nina?  Of  all  the  people 
you  ever  met,  who  knows  so  little  of  the  habits 
of  society  as  myself?  Those  fine  gentlemen  who 
were  here  the  other  day  shocked  my  ignorance 
by  numberless  little  displays  of  indifference.  Yet 
I  can  feel  that  they  must  have  been  paragons  of 
good-breeding,  and  that  what  I  believed  to  be 
a  very  cool  self-sufficiency  was  in  reality  the  very 
latest  London  version  of  good  manners. " 

"Oh,  you  did  not  like  that  charming  careless- 
ness of  Englishmen  that  goes  where  it  likes  and 
when  it  likes,  that  does  not  wait  to  be  answered 
when  it  questions,  and  only  insists  on  one  thing, 
which  is — '  not  to  be  bored.'  If  you  knew,  dear- 
est Kate,  how  foreigners  school  themselves,  and 
strive  to  catch  up  that  insouciance,  and  never 
succeed — never!" 

"  My  brother's  friend  certainly  is  no  adept  in 
it." 

"He  is  insufferable.  I  don't  know  that  the 
man  ever  dined  in  the  company  of  ladies  before  ; 


LORD  KLLGOBBIN. 


did  yon  remark  thai  he  did  not  open  the  door  as 
we  left  the  dinner-room?  and  if  your  brother  had 
not  come  over,  I  Bhonld  have  had  to  open  it  for 
myself.  I  declare  I'm  not  sure  he  stood  up  as 
we  passed." 

"Oh  \es;    I  saw  him  rise  from  his  chair." 
"  I  II  tell  TOO  what  von  did  not  see.      You  did 


ma-  to  excite  suspicion  ofhis  class,  and  I  want  to 
know  n  hal  1  lick  means  by  introducing  him  here." 

"Papa  liked  him;  at  leas)  he  said  that  after 
we  left  the  room  a  good  deal  of  his  bIij  ness  wore 
off,  and  that  he  conversed  pleasantly  and  well. 
Above  all.  he  Beems  to  know  Ireland  perfectly." 

"  indeed!"  said  she,  half  disdainfully. 


not  see  him  open  his  napkin  at  dinner.  He  Btole 
his  roll  of  bread  very  slyly  from  the  folds,  and 
then  placed  the  napkin,  carefully  folded,  beside 

him." 

••Von  seem  to  have  observed  him   closely, 
Nina." 

"I  did  so,  because  I  saw  enough  in  his  man-  | 


"So  much  so  that  I  was  heartily  sorry  to  leave 

the   room  when    I   heard   them    begin   the   topic; 

hut  I  saw  papa  wished  to  have  some  talk  with 

him.  and  I  went." 

'•They  were  gallant  enough  not  to  join  us  aft- 
erward, though  I  think  we  waited  tea  till  ten." 
"Till  nigh  eleven,  Nina;    so  that  I  am  sure 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


they  must  have  been  interested  in  their  conversa- 
tion." 

"I  hope  the  explanation  excuses  them." 

"  I  don't  know  that  they  are  aware  they  needed 
an  apology.  Perhaps  they  were  affecting  a  little 
of  that  British  insouciance  you  spoke  of."    ' 

"They  had  better  not.  It  will  sit  most  awk- 
wardly on  their  Irish  habits. " 

"Some  day  or  other  I'll  give  you  a  formal  bat- 
tle on  this  score,  Nina,  and  I  warn  you  you'll  not 
come  so  well  out  of  it." 

"  Whenever  you  like.  I  accept  the  challenge. 
Make  this  brilliant  companion  of  your  brother's 
the  type,  and  it  will  test  your  cleverness,  I  prom- 
ise you.     Do  you  even  know  his  name  ?" 

"  Mr.  Daniel,  my  brother  called  him ;  but  I 
know  nothing  of  his  country  or  of  his  belongings." 

"Daniel  is  a  Christian  name,  not  a  family 
name,  is  it  not  ?  We  have  scores  of  people  like 
that — Tommasini,  Riccardi,  and  such  like — in 
Italy,  but  they  mean  nothing." 

"Our  friend  below  stairs  looks  as  if  that  was 
not  his  failing.  I  should  say  that  he  means  a 
good  deal." 

"Oh,  I  know  you  are  laughing  at  my  stupid 
phrase — no  matter;  you  understood  me,  at  all 
events.     I  don't  like  that  man. " 

"  Dick's  friends  are  not  fortunate  with  you.  I 
remember  how  unfavorably  you  judged  of  Mr. 
Atlee  from  his  portrait." 

•■  Well,  he  looked  rather  better  than  his  picture 
— less  false,  I  mean ;  or  perhaps  it  was  that  he 
had  a  certain  levity  of  manner  that  carried  off 
the  perfidy." 

"  What  an  amiable  sort  of  levity !" 

"  You  are  too  critical  on  me  by  half  this  even- 
ing," said  Nina,  pettishly;  and  she  arose  and 
strolled  out  upon  the  leads. 

For  some  time  Kate  was  scarcely  aware  she 
had  gone.  Her  head  was  full  of  cares,  and  she 
sat  trying  to  think  some  of  them  "out,"  and  see 
her  way  to  deal  with  them.  At  last  the  door  of 
the  room  slowly  and  noiselessly  opened,  and  Dick 
put  in  his  head.  "  I  was  afraid  you  might  be 
asleep,  Kate, "  said  he,  entering,  ' '  finding  all  so 
still  and  quiet  here." 

"  No.  Nina  and  I  were  chatting  here — squab- 
bling, I  believe,  if  I  were  to  tell  the  truth ;  and 
I  can't  tell  when  she  left  me." 

"  What  could  you  be  quarreling  about  ?"  asked 
he,  as  he  sat  down  beside  her. 

"I  think  it  was  about  that  strange  friend  of 
yours.  We  were  not  quite  agreed  whether  his 
manners  were  perfect,  or  his  habits  those  of  the 
well-bred  world.  Then  we  wanted  to  know  more 
of  him,  and  each  was  dissatisfied  that  the  other 
was  so  ignorant ;  and,  lastly,  we  were  canvassing 
that  very  peculiar  taste  you  appear  to  have  in 
friends,  and  were  wondering  where  you  find  your 
odd  people." 

"  So,  then,  you  don't  like  Donogan  ?"  said  he, 
hurriedly. 

"  Like  whom  ?    And  you  call  him  Donogan  !" 

"  The  mischief  is  out,"  said  he.  "  Not  that  I 
wanted  to  have  secrets  from  you ;  but  all  the 
>ame,  I  am  a  precious  bungler.  His  name  is 
Donogan,  and  what's  more,  it's  Daniel  Donogan. 
He  was  the  same  who  figured  in  the  clock  at,  I 
lielieve,  sixteen  years  of  age,  with  Smith  O'Brien 
and  the  others,  and  was  afterward  seen  in  En- 
gland in  '59,  known  as  a  head-centre,  and  appre- 
hended on  suspicion  in  'GO,  and  made  his  escape 


from  Dartmoor  the  same  year.  There's  a  very 
pretty  biography  in  skeleton,  is  it  not?" 

"But,  my  dear  Dick,  how  are  you  connected 
with  him  ?" 

"  Not  very  seriously.  Don't  be  afraid.  I'm 
not  compromised  in  any  way,  nor  does  he  desire 
that  I  should  be.  Here  is  the  whole  story  of  our 
acquaintance."  And  now  he  told  what  the  read- 
er already  knows  of  their  first  meeting  and  the 
intimacy  that  followed  it. 

"All  that  will  take  nothing  from  the  danger 
of  harboring  a  man  charged  as  he  is,"  said  she, 
gravely. 

"That  is  to  say,  if  he  be  tracked  and  discov- 
ered." 

"It  is  what  I  mean." 

"  Well,  one  has  only  to  look  out  of  that  win- 
dow, and  see  where  we  are  and  what  lies  around 
us  on  every  side,  to  be  tolerably  easy  on  that 
score."  And  as  lie  spoke  he  arose  and  walked 
out  upon  the  terrace.  "What!  were  you  here 
all  this  time  ?"  asked  he,  as  he  saw  Nina  seated 
on  the  battlement,  and  throwing  dried  leaves 
carelessly  to  the  wind. 

"Yes;  I  have  been  here  this  half  hour,  per- 
haps longer." 

"  And  heard  what  we  have  been  saying  within 
there  ?" 

"Some  chance  words  reached  me,  but  I  did 
not  follow  them." 

"Oh,  it  was  here  you  were,  then,  Nina!"  cried 
Kate.  "I  am  ashamed  to  say  I  did  not  know 
it." 

"  WTe  got  so  warm  in  discussing  your  friend's 
merits  or  demerits  that  we  parted  in  a  sort  of 
huff,"  said  Nina.  "I  wonder  was  he  worth 
quarreling  for?" 

"What  should  you  say?"  asked  Dick,  inquir- 
fhgly,  as  he  scanned  her  face. 

"In  any  other  land  I  might  say  he  was — that 
is,  that  some  interest  might  attach  to  him ;  but 
here,  in  Ireland,  you  all  look  so  much  brighter, 
and  wittier,  and  more  impetuous,  and  more  out 
of  the  common  than  you  really  are,  that  I  give 
up  all  divination  of  you,  and  own  I  can  not  read 
you  at  all." 

"  I  hope  you  like  the  explanation,"  said  Kate 
to  her  brother,  laughing. 

"  I'll  tell  my  friend  of  it  in  the  morning,"  said 
Dick ;  "  and  as  he  is  a  great  national  champion, 
perhaps  he'll  accept  it  as  a  defiance." 

"You  do  not  frighten  by  the  threat,"  said 
Nina,  calmly. 

Dick  looked  from  her  face  to  his  sister's  and 
back  again  to  hers,  to  discern  if  he  might  how 
much  she  had  overheard ;  but  he  coidd  read 
nothing  in  her  cold  and  impassive  bearing,  and 
he  went  his  way  in  doubt  and  confusion. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

ON   A    VISIT    AT    KILGOBBIN. 

Before  Kearney  had  risen  from  his  bed  the 
next  morning  Donogan  was  in  his  room,  his 
look  elated,  and  his  cheek  glowing  with  recent 
exercise.  "I  have  had  a  burst  of  two  hours' 
sharp  walking  over  the  bog,"  cried  he  ;  "  and  it 
has  put  me  in  such  spirits  as  I  have  not  known 
for  many  a  year.  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Kearney, 
that  what  with  the  fantastic  effects  of  the  morn- 


LORD  Kll.iiuBBIN. 


re 


iug  mists,  as  they  lift  themselves  over  these  vast 
wastes,  the  glorious  patches  of  bine  heather  ami 
purple  anemone  thai  the  sun  displays  through 

the  fog.  ami.  better  than  all.  the  springiness  of 

a  soil  that  semis  a  thrill  to  the  heart,  like  a  throb 
of  youth  itself,  there  is  no  walking  in  the  world 
can  compare  with  a  hoi;  at  sunrise!  There's  a 
sentiment  to  open  n  paper  on  nationalities!  I 
came  up  with  the  postboy,  ami  took  his  letters,  to 
save  him  a  couple  of  miles.  Here's  one  for  you, 
I  think  from  Atlee;  ami  this  is  also  to  your  ad- 
dress, from  Dnblin;  ami  here's  the  last  number 
of  the  Pike;  and  you'll  see  they  have  lost  no  time. 
There's  a  few  lines  about  you.  '  Our  readers 
will  be  grateful  to  us  for  the  tidings  we  announce 
to-day.  with  authority— that  Richard  Kearney, 
Esq.,  son  of  Maurice  Kearney,  of  Kilgobbin  Cas- 
tle, will  contest  his  native  county  at  the  approach- 
ing election.  It  will  he  a  proud  day  for  Ireland 
when  she  shall  see  her  representation  in  the 
names  of  those  who  dignify  the  exalted  station 
they  hold  in  virtue  of  their  birth  and  blood  by 
claims  of  admitted  talent  and  recognized  ability. 
.Mr.  Kearney,  junior,  has  swept  the  university  of 
its  prizes,  and  the  college  gate  has  long  seen  his 
name  at  the  head  of  her  prizemen.  He  contests 
the  seat  in  the  National  interest.  It  is  needless 
to  say  all  our  sympathies  and  hopes  and  best 
wishes  go  with  him.'  " 

Dick  shook  with  laughing  while  the  other  read 
out  the  paragraph  in  a  high-souuding  and  pre- 
tentious tone. 

"1  hope,"  said  Kearney  at  last,  "that  the 
information  as  to  my  college  successes  is  not 
vouched  for  on  authority.'' 

•  •  Who  cares  a  fig  about  them  ?  The  phrase 
rounds  oft*  a  sentence,  and  nobody  treats  it  like 
an  affidavit." 

"  Hut  some  one  may  take  the  trouble  to  re- 
mind the  readers  that  my  victories  have  been  de- 
feats, and  that  in  my  last  examination  but  one  I 
got  'cautioned.' " 

"Do  you  imagine,  Mr.  Kearney,  the  House 
of  Commons  in  any  way  reflects  college  distinc- 
tion ?  Do  you  look  for  senior  wranglers  and 
double-firsts  on  the  Treasury  bench?  and  are 
not  the  men  who  carry  away  distinction  the  men 
of  breadth,  not  depth  ?  Is  it  not  the  wide  ac- 
quaintance with  a  large  field  of  knowledge,  and 
the  subtle  power  to  know  how  other  men  regard 
these  topics,  that  make  the  popular  leader  of  the 
present  day?  And  remember,  it  is  talk,  and  not 
oratory,  is  the  mode.  You  must  be  common- 
plan',  and  even  vulgar,  practical,  dashed  with  a 
small  morality,  so  as  not  to  be  classed  with  the 
low  Radical ;  and  if  then  you  have  a  bit  of  hi- 
falutin  for  the  peroration,  you'll  do.  The  morn- 
ing papers  will  call  you  a  young  man  of  great 
promise,  and  the  whip  will  never  pass  you  with- 
out a  shake  ban. Is.  " 

••  I'm  there  are  good  speakers." 

"There  is  Bright  —  I  don't  think  I  know  an- 
other— and  he  only  at  times.  Take  my  word 
for  it,  the  secret  of  success  with  'the  collective 
wisdom'  is  reiteration.  Tell  them  the  same 
thing,  not  once  or  twice,  or  even  ten,  but  fifty 
times,  and  don't  vary  very  much  even  the  way 
you  tell  it.  Go  on  repeating  your  platitudes,  and 
by  the  time  you  find  yon  are  cursing'  your  own 
stupid  persistence,  you  may  Bwearyou  have  made 
a  convert  to  your  opinions,  [f  yon  are  bent  on 
variety,  and  must  indulge  it,  ring  your  changes 


on  the  man  who  brought  these  views  before  them 

—yourself,  hut  beyond  these  never  si  par.  O'CoD 
neil.  who  had  variety  at  will  for  his  own  country- 
men, never  tried  it  in  England:  he  knew  better. 

The  chawbacons  thai  we  sneer  at  are  DOt  always 
in  Smock-frocks,  take  my  word  for  it  :   they  many 

of  them  wear  wide-brimmed  hats  and  broadcloth, 

and  sit  above  the  gangway.  Ay,  Sir,"  cried  he, 
warming  with  the  theme:  "once  1  can  get  mj 
countrymen  folly  awakened  to  the  fact  of  who 
ami  what  are  the  men  who  rule  them.  I'll  ask  for 

no  Catholic  Associations,  or  Repeal  <  mittees, 

or  Nationalist  Clubs ;  the  card  house  of  British 
supremacy  will  tumble  of  itself;  there  will  be  no 
conflict.,  but  simply  submission." 

'•  We're  a  long  day's  journey  from  these  con- 
victions, 1  suspect,"  saiti  Kearney,  doubtfully. 

"Not  so  far,  perhaps,  as  you  think.  Do  you 
remark  how  little  the  English  press  deal  in  abuse 
of  us  to  what  was  once  their  custom  ?  They  have 
not,  I  admit,  come  down  to  civility ;  but  they 
don't  deride  us  in  the  old  fashion,  nor  tell  us.  as 
I  once  saw,  that  we  are  intellectually  and  phys- 
ically stamped  with  inferiority.  If  it  was  true, 
Mr.  Kearney,  it  was  stupid  to  tell  it  to  us." 

"I  think  we  could  do  better  than  dwell  upon 
these  things." 

"I  deny  that:  deny  it  in  toto.  The  moment 
you  forget,  in  your  dealings  with  the  Knglishman, 
the  cheap  estimate  he  entertains,  not  alone  of 
your  brains  and  your  skill,  but  of  your  resolution, 
your  persistence,  your  strong  will — ay,  your  very 
integrity — that  moment,  I  say,  places  him  in  a 
] position  to  treat  you  as  something  below  him. 
Bear  in  mind,  however,  how  he  is  striving  to  re- 
gard you,  and  it's  your  own  fault  if  you're  not 
his  equal,  and  something  more  perhaps.  There 
was  a  man  more  than  the  master  of  them  all, 
and  his  name  was  Edmund  Burke;  and  how  did 
they  treat  him  ?  How  insolently  did  they  behave 
to  O'Connell  in  the  House  till  he  put  his  heel  on 
them!  Were  they  generous  to  Sheil?  Were 
they  just  to  Plunked?  No.  no.  The  element 
that  they  decry  in  our  people  they  know  they 
have  not  got,  and  they'd  like  to  crash  the  race, 
when  they  can  not  extinguish  the  quality." 

Donogan  had  so  excited  himself  now  that  he 
walked  up  and  down  the  room,  his  voice  ringing 
with  emotion,  and  his  arms  wildly  tossing  in  all 
the  extravagance  of  passion.  ' '  'Ibis  is  from  Joe 
Atlee,"  said  Kearney,  as  he  tore  open  the  envel- 
ope : 

"'Dear  Dick, — I  can  not  account  for  the 
madness  that  seems  to  have  seized  you,  except 
that  Dan  Donogan,  the  most  rabid  dog  I  know, 
has  bitten  you.    If  so,  for  Heaven's  sake  have  the 

piece  cut  out  at  once,  and  use  the  strongest  cau- 
tery of  COmmon-8ense,  if  you  know  of  any  one 

who  has  a  little  to  spare.    1  only  remembered  yes 

terday  that  I  oughl  to  have  told  you  I  had  shel- 
tered  Dan  in  our  rooms,  hut  I  can  already  detect 

that  you  have  made  his  acquaintance.  He  IS  not 
a  had  fellow.  He  is  sincere  in  his  opinions,  and 
it rruptible,  if  that  he  tin;  name  for  a  man  who, 

if  bought  to-morrow,  would  not  l.e  worth  sixpence 
to  bis  owner. 

"  'Though  1  resigned  all  respect  for  my  own 
good  sense  in  telling  it,  I  was  obliged  to  let  11. 
B.  know  the  contents  of  your  dispatch,  and  then, 
as  I  saw  he  bad  never  heard  of  Kilgobbin  or  the 
great  Kearney   family,  1  told  more  lies  of  your 


so 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


estated  property,  your  county  station,  your  influ- 
ence generally,  and  your  abilities  individually, 
than  the  fee-simple  of  your  property,  converted 
into  masses,  will  see  me  safe  through  purgatory  ; 
and  I  have  consequently  baited  the  trap  that  has 
caught  myself;  for,  persuaded  by  my  eloquent 
advocacy  "of  you  all,  H.  E.  has  written  to  \Val- 
pole  to  make  certain  inquiries  concerning  you, 
which,  if  satisfactory,  he,  Walpole,  will  put  him- 
self in  communication  with  you,  as  to  the  extent 
and  the  mode  to  which  the  government  will  sup- 
port you.  I  think  I  can  see  Dan  Donogan's  fine 
hand  in  that  part  of  your  note  which  foreshad- 
ows a  threat,  and  hints  that  the  Walpole  story 
would,  if  published  abroad,  do  enormous  damage 
to  the  ministry.  This,  let  me  assure  you,  is  a 
fatal  error,  and  a  blunder  which  could  only  be 
committed  by  an  outsider  in  political  life.  The 
days  are  long  past  since  a  scandal  could  smash 
an  administration;  and  we  are  so  strong  now 
that  arson  or  forgery  could  not  hurt,  and  I  don't 
think  that  infanticide  would  affect  us. 

"  'If  you  are  really  bent  on  this  wild  exploit, 
you  should  see  Walpole  and  confer  with  him. 
You  don't  talk  well,  but  you  write  worse ;  so  avoid 
correspondence,  and  do  all  your  indiscretions 
verbally.  Be  angry,  if  you  like,  with  my  can- 
dor, but  follow  my  counsel. 

"  '  See  him  and  show  him,  if  you  are  able,  that, 
all  questions  of  nationality  apart,  he  may  count 
upon  your  vote  ;  that  there  are  certain  imprac- 
ticable and  impossible  conceits  in  politics — like 
repeal,  subdivision  of  land,  restoration  of  the  con- 
fiscated estates,  and  such  like — on  which  Irish- 
men insist  on  being  free  to  talk  balderdash  and 
air  their  patriotism ;  but  that,  rightfully  con- 
sidered, they  are  as  harmless  and  mean  just  as 
little  as  a  discussion  on  the  Digamma  or  a  de- 
bate on  perpetual  motion.  The  stupid  Tories 
could  never  be  brought  to  see  this.  Like  genu- 
ine dolts,  they  would  have  an  army  of  support- 
ers one-minded  with  them  in  every  thing.  We 
know  better,  and  hence  we  buy  the  Radical  vote 
by  a  little  coquetting  with  communism,  and  the 
model  working-man  and  the  rebel  by  an  occa- 
sional jail  delivery,  and  the  papist  by  a  sop  to 
the  Holy  Father.  Bear  in  mind,  Dick — and  it 
is  the  grand  secret  of  political  life — it  takes  all 
sorts  of  people  to  make  "a  party."  When  you 
have  thoroughly  digested  this  aphorism  you  are 
fit  to  start  in  the  world. 

"  '  If  you  are  not  so  full  of  what  I  am  sure  you 
would  call  your  "  legitimate  ambitions,"  I'd  like 
to  tell  you  the  glorious  life  we  lead  in  this  place. 
Disraeli  talks  of  "the  well -sustained  splendor 
of  their  stately  lives,"  and  it  is  just  the  phrase  for 
an  existence  in  which  all  the  appliances  to  ease 
and  enjoyment  are  supplied  by  a  sort  of  magic, 
that  never  shows  its  machinery,  nor  lets  you  hear 
the  sound  of  its  working.  The  saddle-horses 
know  when  I  want  to  ride  by  the  same  instinct 
that  makes  the  butler  give  me  the  exact  wine  I 
wish  at  my  dinner.  And  so  on  throughout  the 
day,  "the  sustained  splendor"  being  an  ever- 
present  luxuriousness  that  I  drink  in  with  a  thirst 
that  knows  no  slaking. 

"  'I  have  made  a  hit  with  H.  E.,  and,  from 
copying  some  rather  muddle-headed  dispatches, 
I  am  now  promoted  to  writing  short  skeleton  ser- 
mons on  politics,  which,  duly  filled  out  and  fat- 
tened with  official  nutriment,  will  one  day  as- 
tonish the  Irish  Office,  and  make  one  of  the  Nes- 


tors  of  bureaucracy  exclaim,  "See  how  Danes- 
bury  has  got  up  the  Irish  question  !" 

"  '  I  have  a  charming  collaborateur,  my  lord's 
niece,  who  was  acting  as  his  private  secretary  up 
to  the  time  of  my  arrival,  and  whose  explanation 
of  a  variety  of  things  I  found  to  be  so  essential 
that,  from  being  at  first  in  the  continual  necessi- 
ty of  seeking  her  out,  I  have  now  arrived  at  a 
point  at  which  we  write  in  the  same  room,  and 
pass  our  mornings  in  the  library  till  luncheon. 
She  is  stunningly  handsome,  as  tall  as  the  Greek 
cousin,  and  with  a  stately  grace  of  manner  and 
a  cold  dignity  of  demeanor  I'd  give  my  heart's 
blood  to  subdue  to  a  mood  of  womanly  tender- 
ness and  dependence.  Up  to  this,  my  position 
is  that  of  a  very  humble  courtier  in  presence  of 
a  queen,  and  she  takes  care  that  by  no  moment- 
ary forgetfulness  shall  I  lose  sight  of  the  "situa- 
tion." 

"  'She  is  engaged,  they  say,  to  be  married  to 
Walpole ;  but  as  I  have  not  heard  that  he  is  heir- 
apparent,  or  has  even  the  reversion  to  the  crown 
of  Spain,  I  can  not  perceive  what  the  contract 
means. 

"  'I  rode  out  with  her  to-day  by  special  invi- 
tation, or  permission — which  was  it  ? — and  in  the 
few  words  that  passed  between  us  she  asked  me 
if  I  had  long  known  Mr.  Walpole,  and  put  her 
horse  into  a  canter  without  waiting  for  my  an- 
swer. 

"  '  With  H.  E.  1  can  talk  away  freely,  and 
without  constraint.  I  am  never  very  sure  that 
he  does  not  know  the  things  he  questions  me  on 
better  than  myself — a  practice  some  of  his  order 
rather  cultivate;  but,  on  the  whole,  our  inter- 
course is  easy.  I  know  he  is  not  a  little  puzzled 
about  me,  and  I  intend  that  he  should  remain  so. 

"  '  When  you  have  seen  and  spoken  with  Wal- 
pole, write  me  what  has  taken  place  between 
you ;  and  though  I  am  fully  convinced  that  what 
you  intend  is  unmitigated  folly,  I  see  so  many 
difficulties  in  the  way,  such  obstacles,  and  such 
almost  impossibilities  to  be  overcome,  that  I  think 
Fate  will  be  more  merciful  to  you  than  your  am- 
bitions, and  spare  you,  by  an  early  defeat,  from 
a  crushing  disappointment. 

"  'Had  you  ambitioned  to  be  a  governor  of  a 
colony,  a  bishop,  or  a  Queen's  messenger — they 
are  the  only  irresponsible  people  I  can  think  of 
— I  might  have  helped  you ;  but  this  conceit  to 
be  a  Parliament  man  is  such  irredeemable  folly, 
one  is  powerless  to  deal  witli  it. 

"  '  At  all  events,  your  time  is  not  worth  much, 
nor  is  your  public  character  of  a  very  grave  im- 
portance. Give  them  both,  then,  freely  to  the 
effort,  but  do  not  let  it  cost  you  money,  nor  let 
Donogan  persuade  you  that  you  are  one  of  those 
men  who  can  make  patriotism  self-supporting. 

"  '  H.  E.  hints  at  a  very  confidential  mission 
on  which  he  desires  to  employ  me ;  and  though 
I  should  leave  this  place  now  with  much  regret, 
and  a  more  tender  sorrow  than  I  could  teach  you 
to  comprehend,  I  shall  hold  myself  at  his  orders 
for  Japan  if  he  wants  me.  Meanwhile,  write  to 
me  what  takes  place  with  Walpole,  and  put  your 
faith  firmly  in  the  good-will  and  efficiency  of 
"  '  Yours  truly,  Joe  Atlke. 

"  '  If  you  think  of  taking  Donogan  down  with 
you  to  Kilgobbin,  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  it 
would  be  a  mistake.  Women  invariably  dislike 
him,  and  he  would  do  you  no  credit.'  " 


LOUD  K I  Hi 01?  15 IX. 


si 


Dick  Kearney,  who  had  begun  to  read  this  let- 
ter aloml,  saw  himself  constrained  to  continue, 

ami  went   on  boldly,  without  stop  or  hesitation, 
to  the  last  word. 
'•I  am  ?ery  grateful  to  yon,  Mi-.  Kearney," 

said  Donogan,  "for  this  mark  of  trustfulness. 
and  I'm  not  in  the  least  sore  about  all  Joe  has 
said  of  me." 

"He  is  not  overcomplimentary  to  myself." 
said  Kearney,  and  the  irritation  he  felt  was  not 
to  he  concealed. 

"There's  one  passage  in  his  letter,"  said  the 
other,  thoughtfully,  "  well  worth  all  the  stress  he 
lays  on  it.  He  tells  you  never  to  forget  it  '  takes 
all  sorts  of  men  to  make  a  party.'  Nothing  can 
more  painfully  prove  the  fact  than  that  we  need 
Joe  Atlee  among  ourselves!  And  it  is  true. 
Mr.  Kearney."  said  lie.  sternly,  "treason  must 
now,  to  have  any  chance  at  all,  he  many-handed. 
We  want  not  only  all  sorts  of  men,  but  in  all 
sorts  of  places;  and  at  tables  where  rebel  opin- 
ions dared  not  be  boldly  announced  and  defended 
we  want  people  who  can  coquet  with  felony,  and 
get  men  to  talk  over  treason  with  little  if  any 
ceremony.  Joe  can  do  this — he  can  write,  and, 
what  is  better,  sing  you  a  Fenian  ballad,  and  if 
be  sees  he  has  made  a  mistake,  he  can  quiz  him- 
self and  his  song  as  cavalierly  as  be  has  sung  it. 
And  now,  on  my  solemn  oath,  I  say  it,  1  don't 
know  that  any  thing  worse  has  befallen  us  than 
the  fact  that  there  are  such  men  as  Joe  Atlee 
among  us,  and  that  we  need  them — ay,  Sir,  we 
need  them!" 

"This  is  brief  enough,  at  any  rate,"  said  Kear- 
ney, as  he  broke  open  the  second  letter : 


"'DniT.iN  Castle,  Wednesday  "Evening. 
"  'Dear  Sir, — Would  you  do  me  the  great 
favor  to  call  on  me  here  at  your  earliest  conven- 
ient moment?  I  am  still  an  invalid,  and  confined 
to  a  sofa,  or  would  ask  for  permission  to  meet 
you  at  your  chambers. 

*"  'Believe  me,  yours  faithfully, 

"'Cecil  Walpole.' 

"That  can  not  be  delayed,  I  suppose?"  said 
Kearney,  in  the  tone  of  a  question. 

"Certainly  not." 

"  I'll  go  up  by  the  night  mail.  You'll  remain 
where  you  are.  ami  where  I  hope  you  feel  you  are  i 
with  a  welcome." 

"  I  feel  it.  Sir — I  feel  it  more  than  I  can  say." 
And  his  face  was  blood-red  as  he  spoke. 

"There  are  scores  of  things  you  can  do  while 
I  am  away.  You'll  have  to  study  the  county  in 
all  its  baronies  and  subdivisions  :  there  my  sis- 
ter can  help  you:  and  you'll  have  to  learn  tin- 
names  and  places  of  our  great  county  swells,  and 
mark  BUCh  a-  may  he  likely  to  as-ist  us.  You'll 
have  to  stroll  about  in  our  own  neighborhood,  and 
learn  what  the  people  near  borne  say  of  the  in- 
tention, and  pick  np  what  you  can  of  public  opin- 
ion in  our  towns  of  Moate  and  Kilbeggan." 

"I  have  bethought  me  of  all  that — "  lie 
paused  here  and  seemed  to  hesitate  if  he  should 
gay  more;  and,  after  an  effort,  he  went  on: 
"You'll  not  take  amiss  what  I'm  going  to  say, 
Mr.  Kearney.  You'll  make  full  allowance  for  a 
man  placed  as  I  am.  But  I  want,  before  you  go, 
to  learn  from  you  in  what  way.  or  as  what,  you 
have  presented  me  to  your  family.      Am  I  a  poor 

sizar  of  Trinity,  whose  hard  straggle  with  pov- 


erty has  caught  your  sympathy  ?  Am  I  a  chance 
acquaintance,  whose  only  claim  on  you  i>  being 

known  to  doe  Atlee?  I'm  sure  I  need  not  ask 
you  have  you  called  me  by  my  real  name  and 
given  me  my  real  character?" 

Kearney  flushed  np  to  the  eyes,  and  laying  his 
hand  On  the  other's  shoulder-  -"This  is  exactly 
what  I  have  done.  I  have  told  my  sister  that 
you  were  the  noted  Daniel  Donogan,  United 
Irishman  and  rebel." 

"  But  only  to  your  sister?" 

"To none  other." 

'•'■Shell  not  betray  me,  I  know  that." 

"  You  are  right  there,  Donogan.  Here's  how 
it  happened,  for  it  was  not  intended.''  And  now 
he  related  how  the  name  had  escaped  him. 

••  So  that  the  cousin  knows  nothing?" 

"Nothing  whatever.  My  sister  Kate  is  not 
one  to  make  rash  confidences,  and  yon  may  rely 
on  it  she  has  not  told  her." 

"  I  hope  and  trust  that  this  mistake  will  sorvc 
you  for  a  lesson,  Mr.  Kearney,  and  show  you  that 
to  keep  a  secret  it  is  not  enough  to  have  an  hon- 
est intention,  but  a  maivmust  have  a  watch  over 
his  thoughts  and  a  padlock  on  his  tongue.  And 
now  to  something  of  more  importance.  In  your 
meeting  with  Walpole  mind  one  thing :  no  mod- 
esty, no  humility ;  make  your  demands  boldly, 
and  declare  that  your  price  is  well  worth  the 
paying;  let  him  feel  that,  as  he  must  make  a 
choice  between  the  priests  and  the  Nationalists. 
that  we  are  the  easier  of  the  two  to  deal  with  : 
first  of  all,  we  don't  press  for  prompt  payment; 
and  secondly,  we'll  not  shock  Exeter  Hall ! 
Show  him  that  strongly,  and  tell  him  that  there 
are  clever  fellows  among  us  who'll  not  compro- 
mise him  or  his  party,  and  will  never  desert  him 
on  a  close  division.  Oh,  dear  me,  how  I  wish  I 
was  going  in  your  place !" 

"  So  do  I,  with  all  my  heart ;  but  there's  ten 
striking,  and  we  shall  be  late  for  breakfast." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE    MOATE    STATION. 

The  train  by  which  Miss  Betty  O'Shea  ex- 
pected her  nephew  was  late  in  its  arrival  at 
Moate,  and  Peter  Gill,  who  had  been  sent  with 
the  car  to  fetch  him  over,  was  busily  discuss- 
ing his  second  supper  when  the  passengers  ar- 
rived. 

"Are  you  Mr.  Gorman  O'Shea,  Sir?"  asked 
Peter  of  a  well-dressed  and  well  looking  man, 
who  had  just  taken  his  luggage  from  the  train. 

"  No;  here  he  is,"  replied  he,  pointing  to  a 
tall,  powerful  young  fellow,  whose  tweed  suit  and 
hilly-cock  hat  could  not  completely  conceal  a  sol- 
dier-like hearing  and  a  sort  of  compactness  that 
come-  of  "drill." 

"That's  my  name.  What  do  you  want  with 
me?"   cried  he,  in  a  loud  hut  pleasant  voice. 

"  Only  that  Miss  Betty  has  sent  me  over  with 
the  car  for  your  honor,  if  it's  pla/.ing  to  you  to 
drive  across." 

••  What  about  this  broiled  bone,  Miller?"  asked 
( (Shea.  "  I  rather  think  I  like  the  notion  bet- 
ter than  when  you  proposed  it." 

"I  suspect  you  do,"  said  the  other;   "  but  we'll 

have  to  step  over  to  the  '  Bine  Goat.'     It's  onlj 
a  few  yards  off,  and  they'll  he  ready,  for  I  tele 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


graphed  them  from  town  to  be  prepared  as  the 
train  came  in." 

"  You  seem  to  know  the  place  well." 

"Yes.  I  may  say  I  know  something  about  it. 
I  canvassed  this  part  of  the  county  once  for  one 
of  the  Idlers,  and  I  secretly  determined,  if  I  ever 
thought  of  trying  for  a  seat  in  the  House,  I'd 
make  the  attempt  here.  They  are  the  most  pre- 
tentious set  of  beggars,  these  small  towns-folk, 
and  they'd  rather  hear  themselves  talk  politics, 
and  give  their  notions  of  what  they  think  '  good 
for  Ireland,'  than  actually  pocket  bank-notes; 
and  that,  my  dear  friend,  is  a  virtue  in  a  con- 
stituency never  to  be  ignored  or  forgotten.     The 

moment,  then,  I  heard  of  M 's  retirement, 

I  sent  off  a  confidential  emissary  down  here  to 
get  up  what  is  called  a  requisition,  asking  me  to 
stand  for  the  county.  Here  it  is,  and  the  answer, 
in  this  morning's  Freeman.  You  can  read  it  at 
your  leisure.  Here  we  are  now  at  the  '  Blue 
Goat;'  and  I  see  they  are  expecting  us." 

Not  only  was  there  a  capital  fire  in  the  grate, 
and  the  table  ready  laid  for  supper,  but  half  a 
dozen  or  more  of  the  notabilities  of  Moate  were 
in  waiting  to  receive  the  new  candidate,  and  con- 
fer with  him  over  the  coming  contest. 

"My  companion  is  the  nephew  of  an  old  neigh- 
bor of  yours,  gentlemen,"  said  Miller :  "  Captain 
Gorman  O'Shea,  of  the  Imperial  Lancers  of  Aus- 
tria. I  know  you  have  heard  of,  if  you  have  not 
seen  him. " 

A  round  of  very  hearty  and  demonstrative  salu- 
tations followed,  and  Gorman  was  well  pleased 
at  the  friendly  reception  accorded  him. 

Austria  was  a  great  country,  one  of  the  com- 
pany observed.  They  had  got  liberal  institutions 
and  a  free  press,  and  they  were  good  Catholics, 
who  would  give  those  heretical  Prussians  a  fine 
lesson  one  of  these  days  ;  and  Gorman  O'Shea's 
health,  coupled  with  these  sentiments,  was  drunk 
with  all  the  honors. 

"There's  a  jolly  old  face  I  ought  to  remem- 
ber well,"  said  Gorman,  as  he  looked  up  at  the 
portrait  of  Lord  Kilgobbin  over  the  chimney. 
"When  I  entered  the  service,  and  came  back 
here  on  leave,  he  gave  me  the  first  sword  I  ever 
wore,  and  treated  me  as  kindly  as  if  I  was  his  son." 

The  hearty  speech  elicited  no  response  from  the 
hearers,  who  only  exchanged  significant  looks 
with  each  other,  while  Miller,  apparently  less 
under  restraint,  broke  in  with,  "That  stupid  ad- 
venture the  English  newspapers  called  '  the  gal- 
lant resistance  at  Kilgobbin  Castle'  has  lost  that 
man  the  esteem  of  Irishmen." 

A  perfect  burst  of  approval  followed  these 
words  ;  and  while  young  O'Shea  eagerly  pressed 
for  an  explanation  of  an  incident  of  which  he 
heard  for  the  first  time,  they  one  and  all  pro- 
ceeded to  give  their  versions  of  what  had  oc- 
curred ;  but  with  such  contradictions,  correc- 
tions, and  emendations  that  the  young  man 
might  be  pardoned  if  he  comprehended  little  of 
the  event. 

"  They  say  his  son  will  contest  the  county  with 
you,  Mr.  Miller,"  cried  one. 

"  Let  me  have  no  weightier  rival,  and  I  ask  no 
more." 

"Faix,  if  he's  going  to  stand,"  said  another, 
"his  father  might  have  taken  the  trouble  to  ask 
us  for  our  votes.  Would  you  believe  it,  Sir,  it's 
going  on  six  months  since  he  put  his  foot  in  this 
room  ?" 


"  And  do  the  '  Goats'  stand  that  ?"  asked  Mil- 
ler. 

"  I  don't  wonder  he  doesn't  care  to  come  into 
Moate.  There's  not  a  shop  in  the  town  he  doesn't 
owe  money  to." 

"  And  we  never  refused  him  credit — " 

"For  any  thing  but  his  principles,"  chimed  in 
an  old  fellow,  whose  oratory  was  heartily  relished. 

' '  He's  going  to  stand  in  the  National  interest," 
said  one. 

"That's  the  safe  ticket  when  you  have  no 
money,"  said  another. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Miller,  who  rose  to  his  legs 
to  give  greater  importance  to  his  address,  "if 
we  want  to  make  Ireland  a  country  to  live  in, 
the  only  party  to  support  is  the  Whig  govern- 
ment. The  Nationalist  may  open  the  jails, 
give  license  to  the  press,  hunt  down  the  Orange- 
men, and  make  the  place  generally  too  hot  for 
the  English.  But  are  these  the  things  that  you 
and  I  want  or  strive  for  ?  We  want  order  and 
quietness  in  the  land,  and  the  best  places  in  it 
for  ourselves  to  enjoy  these  blessings.  Is  Mr. 
Casey  down  there  satisfied  to  keep  the  post-office 
in  Moate,  when  he  knows  he  could  be  first  secre- 
tary in  Dublin,  at  the  head  office,  with  two  thou- 
sand a  year?  Will  my  friend  Mr.  M'Gloin  say 
that  he'd  rather  pass  his  life  here  than  be  a 
Commissioner  of  Customs,  and  live  in  Merrion 
Square  ?  Ain't  we  men  ?  Ain't  we  fathers  and 
husbands?  Have  we  not  sons  to  advance  and 
daughters  to  marry  in  the  world  ?  and  how  much 
will  Nationalism  do  for  these  ? 

"  I  will  not  tell  you  that  the  Whigs  love  us  or 
have  any  strong  regard  for  us ;  but  they  need  us, 
gentlemen,  and  they  know  well  that,  without  the 
Radicals,  and  Scotland,  and  our  party  here,  they 
couldn't  keep  power  for  three  weeks.  "Now  why  is 
Scotland  a  great  and  prosperous  country  ?  I'll  "tell 
you.  Scotland  has  no  sentimental  politics.  Scot- 
land says,  in  her  own  homely  adage,  '  Ca'  me  and 
I'll  ca'  thee.'  Scotland  insists  that  there  should 
be  Scotchmen  every  where — in  the  Post-office,  in 
the  Privy  Council,  in  the  Pipe-water  and  in  the 
Punjaub !  Does  Scotland  go  on  vaporing  about 
an  extinct  nationality  or  the  right  of  the  Stuarts  ? 
Not  a  bit  of  it.  She  says,  Burn  Scotch  coal 
in  the  navy,  though  the  smoke  may  blind  you 
and  you  never  get  up  steam!  She  has  no  na- 
tional absurdities  :  she  neither  asks  for  a  flag  nor 
a  parliament.  She  demands  only  what  will  pay. 
And  it  is  by  supporting  the  Whigs  you  will  make 
Ireland  as  prosperous  as  Scotland.  Literally, 
the  Fenians,  gentlemen,  will  never  make  my 
friend  yonder  a  baronet,  nor  put  me  on  the  Bench ; 
and  now  that  we  are  met  here  in  secret  com- 
mittee, I  can  say  all  this  to  you,  and  none  of  it 
get  abroad. 

"Mind,  I  never  told  you  the  Whigs  love  us, 
or  said  that  we  love  the  Whigs ;  but  we  can 
each  of  us  help  the  other.  When  they  smash  the 
Protestant  party,  they  are  doing  a  fine  stroke  of 
work  for  Liberalism  in  pulling  down  a  cruel  as- 
cendency and  righting  the  Romanists.  And 
when  we  crush  the  Protestants,  we  are  opening 
the  best  places  in  the  land  to  ourselves  by  getting 
rid  of  our  only  rivals.  Look  at  the  Bench, 
gentlemen,  and"  the  high  offices  of  the  courts. 
Have  not  we  papists,  as  they  call  us,  our  share  in 
both?  And  this  is  only  the  beginning,  let  me 
tell  you.  There  is  a  university  in  College  Green 
due  to  us,  and  a  number  of  fine  palaces  that  their 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


83 


bishops  once  lived  in,  and  grand  old  cathedrals 
whose  very  names  Bhow  t lie  rightful  ownership; 
and  when  we  have  got  all  these — as  the  Whigs 

will  give  them  one  day — even  then,  we  are  only 
beginning.  And  now  turn  the  other  vide,  and 
B66  what  \on  have  to  expect  from  the  Nationalists. 
Some  very  hard  fighting  and  a  great  number  of 
broken   heads.      I  give  in   that   you'll  drive  the 

English  out.  take  the  Pigeon-house  Fort,  cap- 
ture the  .Magazine,  and  earn  away  the  Lord 
Lieutenant  in  chains.  And  what  will  yon  have 
for  it.  after  all,  but  another  scrimmage  among 
yourselves  for  the  spoils?  Mr.  Mullen,  of  the 
/  .  will  want  something  that  Mr.  Darby 
M'Keown,  of  the  Convicted  Felon,  hasjusl  ap- 
propriated :  Tom  Cassidy,  that  burned  the  Grand 
.Master  of  the  Orangemen,  finds  that  he  is  not  to 
be  pensioned  for  life;  and  Phil  Costigan,  that 
blew  up  the  Lodge  in  the  Park,  discovers  that  he 
is  not  even  to  get  the  ruins  as  building  materials. 
I  tell  you.  my  friends,  it's  not  in  such  convulsions 
as  these  that  you  and  I,  and  other  sensible  men 
like  ns,  want  to  pass  our  lives.  We  look  for  a 
comfortable  berth  and  quarter-day  ;  that's  what 
we  compound  for — quarter-day — and  1  give  it  to 
yon  as  a  toast  with  all  the  honors." 

And  certainly  the  rich  volume  of  cheers  that 
greeted  the  sentiment  vouched  for  a  hearty  and 
sincere  recognition  of  the  toast. 

"The  chaise  is  ready  at  the  door,  counselor," 
cried  the  landlord,  addressing  Mr.  Miller;  and 
after  a  friendly  shake-hands  all  round.  Miller 
Flipped  his  arm  through  O'.Shea's  and  drew  him 
apart. 

"  I'll  be  back  this  way  in  about  ten  days  or  so, 
and  I'll  ask  you  to  present  me  to  your  aunt. 
bhe  has  got  above  a  hundred  votes  on  her  prop- 
ertv,  and  I  think  I  can  count  upon  you  to  stand 
by  in''." 

"I  can.  perhaps,  promise  3-011  a  welcome  at 
the  Barn,"  muttered  the  young  fellow  in  some 
confusion;  ''but  when  you  have  seen  my  aunt 
you'll  understand  why  I  give  you  no  pledges  on 
the  score  of  political  support.'' 

"Oh,  is  that  the  way?''  asked  Miller,  with  a 
knowing  laughi 

"Yes,  that's  the  way.  and  no  mistake  about 
it,"  replied  O'Shea,  and  they  parted. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

HOW    THE    "GOATS"    REVOLTED. 

Iv  less  than  a  week  after  the  events  last  re- 
lated the  members  of  the." Goat  club"  were  sum- 
moned to  an  extraordinary  and  general  meeting 
by  an  invitation  from  the  vice-president,  Mi. 
91'Gloin,  the  chief  grocer  and  hardware-dealer 
of  Kilbeggan.  The  terms  of  this  circular  seemed 
to  indicate  importance,  for  it  said — "To  take 
into  consideration  a  matter  of  vital  interest  to  the 
society." 

Though  only  the  denizen  of  a  very  humble 
country  town,  M'Gloin  possessed  certain  gifts 
and  qualities  which  might  have  graced  a  higher 
station,  lie  was  the  most  self-contained  and  Be 
cretof  men  ;  he  detected  mysterious  meanings  in 
every — the  smallest — event  of  life:  and  as  he  di 
ridged  none  of  his  discoveries,  and  only  pointed 
vaguely  and  dimly  to  the  consequences,  he  got 
credit  for  the  correctness  of  his  unuttered  predic-  | 


tions  ns  completely  as  though  be  had  registered 
his  prophecies  as  copyright  at  Stationers'  Hall. 
It  is  needier  to  say  that  on  every  question,  re 

ligious.  social,  or  political,  he  was  the  paramount 
authority  of  (he  town.  It  was  but  rarely  indeed 
that  a  rebellious  spirit  dared  to  set  up  an  opinion 

in  opposition  to  bis;  but  if  such  a  hazardous  event 
were  to  occur,  be  would  suppress  it  with  a  dig- 
nity of  manner  which  derived  no  small  aid  from 
the  resources  of  a  mind  rich  in  historical  para] 
lei;   and  it  was  really  curious  for  those  who  be 

Iieve  that  history  is  always  repeating  itself  to  re- 
1  mark  how  frequently  John  M'Gloin  represented 

the  mind  and  character  of  Lycurgus, and  how  oft 

en  poor  old  dreary  ami  bog-surrounded  Moate  re- 
called the  image  of  Sparta  and  its  "sunny  slopes.  " 
Now  there  is  one  feature,  of  Ireland  which  I 
am  not  quite  sure  is  very  generally  known  or  ap- 
preciated on  the  other  side  of  St.  George's  Chan- 
nel, and  this  is  the  fierce  spirit  of  indignation 
called  up  in  a  country  habitually  quiet  when  the 
newspapers  bring  it  to  public  notice  as  the  scene 
of  some  law  less  violence.  For  once  there  is  union 
among  Irishmen.  Every  class,  from  the  estated 
proprietor  to  the  humblest  peasant,  is  loud  in 
asserting  that  the  story  is  an  infamous  false- 
hood. Magistrates,  priests,  agents,  middlemen, 
tax-gatherers,  and  tax-payers  rush  into  print  to 
abuse  the  "blackguard"— -he  is  always  the  black- 
guard— who  invented  the  lie ;  and  men  upward 
of  ninety  are  quoted  to  show  that,  so  long  as 
they  could  remember,  there  never  was  a  man  in- 
jured, nor  a  rick  burned,  nor  a  heifer  hamstrung 
in  the  six  baronies  round!  Old  newspapers  are 
adduced  to  show  how  often  the  going  judge  of 
assize  has  complimented  the  grand  jury  on  the 
catalogue  of  crime;  in  a  word,  the  whole  pop- 
ulation is  ready  to  make  oath  that  the  county  is 
little  short  of  a  terrestrial  paradise,  and  that  it 
is  a  district  teeming  with  gentle  landlords,  pious 
priests,  and  industrious  peasants,  without  a 
plague-spot  on  the  face  of  the  county,  except  it 
be  the  police  barrack,  and  the  company  of  lazy 
vagabonds  with  cross-belts  and  carbines  that 
lounge  before  it.  When,  therefore,  the  press  of 
Dublin  at  first,  and  afterward  of  the  empire  at 
large,  related  the  night  attack  for  arms  at  Kil- 
gobbin  Castle,  the  first  impulse  of  the  county  at. 
large  was  to  rise  up  in  the  face  of  the  nation  and 
deny  the  slander!  Magistrates  consulted  together 
whether  the  high  sheriff  should  not  convene  a 
meeting  of  the  county.  Priests  took  counsel  with 
the.  bishop  whether  notice  should  not  be  taken 
of  the  calumny  from  the  altar.  The  small  shop- 
keepers of  the  small  towns,  assuming  their  trade 
would  be  impaired  by  these  rumors  of  disturb- 
ance— just  as  Parisians  used  to  declaim  against 
barricades  in  the  streets — are  violent  in  denoun- 
cing the  malignant  falsehoods  upon  a  quiet  and 
harmless  community  :   so  that,  in  fact,  every  rank 

and  condition  vied  with  its  neighbor  in  declaring 

that  the.  whole  Story  was  a  ba8e  tissue  of  lies,  and 
which  could  only  impose  upon  those  who  knew 
nothing  of  the  county,  nor  of  the  peaceful,  happy, 
and  brother-like  creatures  who  inhabited  it. 
Itwas  not  to  be  supposed  that,  at  such  a  crisis, 

Mr.  John  M'Gloin  would  be  inactive  or  indiffer- 
ent. As  a  man  ot  considerable  influence  at  elec- 
tions, he  had  his  weight  with  a  county  member, 

Mr.  Price;  and  to  him  he  wrote,  demanding  that 

he  should  ask  in  the  House  what  correspondence 

had  passed  between  Mr.  Kearney  and  theCastie 


84 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


authorities  with  reference  to  this  supposed  out- 
rage, and  whether  the  law  officers  of  the  Crown, 
or  the  adviser  of  the  Viceroy,  or  the  chief  of  the 
local  police,  or — to  quote  the  exact  words— "  any 
sane  or  respectable  man  in  the  county"  believed 
one  word  of  the  story.  Lastly,  that  he  would 
also  ask  whether  any  and  what  correspondence 
had  passed  between  Mr.  Kearney  and  the  Chief 
Secretary  with  respect  to  a  small  house  on  the 
Kilgobbin  property  which  Mr.  Kearney  had  sug- 
gested as  a  convenient  police  station,  and  for 
which  he  asked  a  rent  of  twenty-five  pounds  per 
annum ;  and  if  such  correspondence  existed, 
whether  it  had  any  or  what  relation  to  the  ru- 
mored attack  on  Kilgobbin  Castle. 

If  it  should  seem  strange  that  a  leading  mem- 
ber of  the  "  Goat  Club"  should  assail  its  presi- 
dent, the  explanation  is  soon  made :  Mr.  M'Gloin 
had  long  desired  to  be  the  chief  himself.  He 
and  many  others  had  seen,  with  some  irritation 
and  displeasure,  the  growing  indifference  of  Mr. 
Kearney  for  the  "Goats."  For  many  months 
he  had  never  called  them  together,  and  several 
members  had  resigned,  and  many  more  threat- 
ened resignation.  It  was  time,  then,  that  some 
energetic  step  should  be  taken.  The  opportu- 
nity for  this  was  highly  favorable.  Any  thing 
unpatriotic,  any  thing  even  unpopular  in  Kear- 
ney's conduct,  would,  in  the  then  temper  of  the 
club,  be  sufficient  to  rouse  them  to  actual  rebell- 
ion; and  it  was  to  test  this  sentiment,  and,  if 
necessary,  to  stimulate  it,  Mr.  M'Gloin  convened 
a  meeting,  which  a  by-law  of  the  society  enabled 
him  to  do  at  any  period  when,  for  the  three  pre- 
ceding months,  the  president  had  not  assembled 
the  club. 

Though  the  members  generally  were  not  a 
little  proud  of  their  president,  and  deemed  it 
considerable  glory  to  them  to  have  a  viscount 
for  their  chief,  and  though  it  gave  great  dignity 
to  their  debates  that  the  rising  speaker  should 
begin,  "My  Lord  and  Buck  Goat,"  yet  they 
were  not  without  dissatisfaction  at  seeing  how 
cavalierly  lie  treated  them,  what  slight  value  he 
appeared  to  attach  to  their  companionship,  and 
how  perfectly  indifferent  he  seemed  to  their 
opinions,  their  wishes,  or  their  wants. 

There  were  various  theories  in  circulation  to 
explain  this  change  of  temper  in  their  chief. 
Some  ascribed  it  to  young  Kearney,  who  was  a 
"stuck-up"  young  fellow,  and  wanted  his  father 
to  give  himself  greater  airs  and  pretensions. 
Others  opinioned  it  was  the  daughter,  who, 
though  she  played  Lady  Bountiful  among  the 
poor  cottiers,  and  affected  interest  in  the  people, 
was  in  reality  the  proudest  of  them  all.  And 
last  of  all,  there  were  some  who,  in  open  defi- 
ance of  chronology,  attributed  the  change  to  a 
post-dated  event,  and  said  that  the  swells  from 
the  Castle  were  the  ruin  of  Maurice  Kearney, 
and  that  he  was  never  the  same  man  since  the 
day  he  saw  them. 

Whether  any  of  these  were  the  true  solution 
of  the  difficulty  or  not,  Kearney's  popularity  was 
on  the  decline  at  the  moment  when  this  unfor- 
tunate narrative  of  the  attack  on  his  castle 
aroused  the  whole  county  and  excited  their  feel- 
ings against  him.  Mr.  M'Gloin  took  every 
step  of  his  proceeding  with  due  measure  and 
caution ;  and  having  secured  a  certain  number 
of  promises  of  attendance  at  the  meeting,  he 
next  notilied  to  his  lordship  how,  in  virtue  of  a 


certain  section  of  a  certain  law,  he  had  exercised 
his  right  of  calling  the  members  together ;  and 
that  he  now  begged  respectfully  to  submit  to  the 
chief  that  some  of  the  matters  which  would  be 
submitted  to  the  collective  wisdom  would  have 
reference  to  the  "Buck  Goat"  himself,  and  that 
it  would  be  an  act  of  great  courtesy  on  his  part 
if  he  should  condescend  to  be  present  and  afford 
some  explanation. 

That  the  bare  possibility  of  being  called  to 
account  by  the  "Goats"  would  drive  Kearney 
into  a  ferocious  passion,  if  not  a  fit  of  the  gout, 
M'Gloin  knew  well ;  and  that  the  very  last  thing 
on  his  mind  would  be  to  come  among  them,  he 
was  equally  sure  of:  so  that  in  giving  his  invita- 
tion there  was  no  risk  whatever.  Maurice 
Kearney's  temper  was  no  secret ;  and  whenever 
the  necessity  should  arise  that  a  burst  of  indis- 
creet anger  should  be  sufficient  to  injure  a  cause 
or  damage  a  situation,  "the  lord"  could  be  cal- 
culated on  with  a  perfect  security.  M'Gloin  un- 
derstood this  thoroughly ;  nor  was  it  matter  of 
surprise  to  him  that  a  verbal  reply  of  "There  is 
no  answer"  was  returned  to  his  note ;  while  the 
old  servant,  instead  of  stopping  the  ass-cart  as 
usual  for  the  weekly  supply  of  groceries  at 
M'Gloin's,  repaired  to  a  small  shop  over  the  way, 
where  colonial  products  were  rudely  jostled  out 
of  their  proper  places  by  coils  of  rope,  sacks  of 
rape-seed,  glue,  glass,  and  leather,  amidst  which 
the  proprietor  felt  far  more  at  home  than  amidst 
mixed  pickles  and  Mocha. 

Mr.  M'Gloin,  however,  had  counted  the  cost 
of  his  policy ;  he  knew  well  that,  for  the  ambi- 
tion to  succeed  his  lordship  as  chief  of  the  club, 
he  should  have  to  pay  by  the  loss  of  the  Kilgob- 
bin custom  ;  and  whether  it  was  that  the  great- 
ness in  prospect  was  too  tempting  to  resist,  or 
that  the  sacrifice  was  smaller  than  it  might  have 
seemed,  he  was  prepared  to  risk  the  venture. 

The  meeting  was  in  so  far  a  success  that  it 
was  fully  attended.  Such  a  flock  of  "Goats"' 
had  not  been  seen  by  them  since  the  memory  of 
man,  nor  was  the  unanimity  less  remarkable 
than  the  number ;  and  every  paragraph  of  Mr. 
M'Gloin's  speech  was  hailed  with  vociferous 
cheers  and  applause;  the  sentiment  of  the  as- 
sembly being  evidently  highly  national,  and  the 
feeling  that  the  shame  which  the  Lord  of  Kil- 
gobbin had  brought  down  upon  their  county  was 
a  disgrace  that  attached  personally  to  each  man 
there  present ;  and  that  if  now  their  once  happy 
and  peaceful  district  was  to  be  proclaimed  under 
some  tyranny  of  English  law,  or,  worse  still, 
made  a"  mark  for  the  insult  and  sarcasm  of  the 
Times  newspaper,  they  owed  the  disaster  and 
the  shame  to  no  other  than  Maurice  Kearney 
himself. 

"  I  will  now  conclude  with  a  resolution,"  said 
M'Gloin,  who,  having  filled  the  measure  of  al- 
legation, proceeded  to  the  application.  "I  shall 
move  that  it  is  the  sentiment  of  this  meeting  that 
Lord  Kilgobbin  be  called  on  to  disavow,  in  the 
newspapers,  the  whole  narrative  which  has  been 
circulated  of  the  attack  on  his  house ;  that  he 
declare  openly  that  the  supposed  incident  was  a 
mistake  caused  by  the  timorous  fears  of  his 
household,  during  his  own  absence  from  home — 
terrors  aggravated  by  the  unwarrantable  anxiety 
of  an  English  visitor,  whose  ignorance  of  Ireland 
had  worked  upon  an  excited  imagination  ;  and 
that  a  copy  of  the  resolution  be  presented  to  his 


LORD   K1U.015BIN. 


85 


lordship,  either  in  letter  or  by  a  deputation,  as 
the  meeting  shall  decide." 

While  the  discussion  was  proceeding  as  to  the 
mode  in  which  this  hold  resolution  should  he 
most  becomingly  brought  under  Lord  Kilgob- 
bin's  notice,  a  messenger  on  horseback  arrived 
with  a  letter  tor  .Mr.  M'Cloin.  The  bearer  was 
in  the  Kilgobbin  livery,  and  a  massive  seal,  with 
the  noble  lord's  arms,  attested  the  dispatch  to 
he  from  himself. 

"  Shall  I  pat  the  resolution  to  the  vote,  or  read 
this  letter  first,  gentlemen?"  Bald  the  chairman. 

"  Head  !  read  ! "  was  the  cry ;  and  lie  broke  the 
seal.     It  ran  thus  : 

'•Mi:.  M'Gi.oiv, — Will  you  please  to  inform 
the  members  of  the  '  Goat  Club'  at  Moate  that  I 
retire  from  the  presidency,  and  cease  to  be  a 
member  of  that  society  ?  I  was  vain  enough  to 
believe  at  one  time  that  the  humanizing  element 
of  even  one  gentleman  in  the  vulgnr  circle  of  a 
little  obscure  town  might  have  elevated  the  tone 
of  manners  and  the  spirit  of  social  intercourse. 
I  have  lived  to  discover  my  great  mistake,  and 
that  the  leadership  of  a  man  like  yourself  is  far 
more  likely  to  suit  the  instincts  and  chime  in  with 
the  sentiments  of  such  a  body. 

11  Your  obedient  and  faithful  servant, 

*  "KlLGOBllIN.'' 

The  cry  which  followed  the  reading  of  this 
document  can  only  be  described  as  a  howl.  It 
was  like  the  enraged  roar  of  wild  animals,  rather 
than  the  union  of  human  voices ;  and  it  was  not 
till  after  a  considerable  interval  that  M'Gloin 
could  obtain  a  hearing,  lie  spoke  with  great 
vigor  and  fluency.  He  denounced  the  letter  as 
an  outrage  which  should  be  proclaimed  from  one 
end  of  Europe  to  the  other ;  that  it  was  not  their 
town,  or  their  club,  or  themselves  had  been  in- 
sulted, but  Ireland  !  that  this  mock  lord — (cheers) 
— this  sham  viscount — (greater  cheers) — this 
Brummagem  peer,  whose  nobility  their  native 
courtesy  and  natural  urbanity  had  so  long 
deigned  to  accept  as  real,  should  now  be  taught 
that  his  pretensions  only  existed  on  sufferance, 
and  had  no  claim  beyond  the  polite  condescension 
of  men  whom  it  was  no  stretch  of  imagination  to 
call  the  equals  of  Maurice  Kearney.  The  cries 
that  received  this  were  almost  deafening,  and 
lasted  for  some  minutes. 

— nd.  the  ould  humbug  bis  picture  there," 
ciied  a  voice  from  the  crowd,  and  the  sentiment 
was  backed  by  a  roar  of  voices;  and  it  was  at 
once  decreed  the  portrait  should  accompany  the 
letter  which  the  indignant  "Goats"  now  com- 
missioned  their  chairman  to  compose. 

That  sameeveningsaw  the  gold-framed  picture 
on  its  way  to  Kilgobbin  Castle,  with  an  ample- 
looking  document,  whose  contents  we  have  no 
curiosity  to  transcribe— nor,  indeed,  is  the  whole 
incident  one  which  we  should  have  cared  to  ob- 
trude upon  our  readers  save  as  a  feeble  illustra- 
tion of  the  way  in  which  the  smaller  rills  of  pub- 
lic opinion  swell  the  great  streams  of  lite,  and 
how  the  little  events  of  existence  serve  now  a-  im- 
pulses, now  obstacles,  to  the  larger  interest-  thai 
sway  fortune.  So  long  a-  Maurice  Kearney 
drank  his  punch  at  the  "  lilue  Goat"  he  was  a 

patriot  and  a  Nationalist ;  but  when  he  quarreled 

with  his  Hock  he  renounced  his  Irishry,  and  came 
out  a  Whig. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

AN    UNLOOKED-FOR    PLEASURE! 

When  Dick  Kearney  waited  on  Cecil  Walpole 
at  his  quarters  in  the  Castle  he  was  somewhat 
surprised  to  find  that  gentleman  more  reserved 
in  manner,  and  in  general  more  distant,  than 
when  he  had  seen  him  as  his  father's  guest. 

Though  he  extended  two  fingers  of  his  band 
on  entering,  and  begged  him  to  be  seated,  Wal- 
pole did  not  take  a  chair  himself,  but  stood  with 
his  back  to  the  fire — the  showy  skirts  of  a  very 
gorgeous  dressing-gown  displayed  over  his  arms 
— where  he  looked  like  some  enormous  bird  ex- 
ulting in  the  full  eti'ulgcnce  of  bis  bright  plumage. 

"You  got  my  note,  Mr.  Kearney?"  began  he. 
almost  before  the  other  had  sat  down,  with  the 
air  of  a  man  wdiose  time  was  too  precious  for 
mere  politeness. 

"It  is  the  reason  of  my  present  visit,"  said 
Dick,  dryly. 

"Just  so.  His  Excellency  instructed  me  to 
ascertain  in  what  shape  most  acceptable  to  your 
family  he  might  show  the  sense  entertained  by 
the  government  of  that  gallant  defense  of  Kil- 
gobbin ;  and  believing  that  the  best  way  to  meet 
a  man's  wi>hes  is,  first  of  all,  to  learn  what  the 
v.  ishea  are,  1  wrote  you  the  few  lines  of  yesterday.'' 

"1  suspect  there  must  be  a  mistake;  some- 
where," began  Kearney,  with  difficulty.  "At 
least,  I  intimated  to  Atlee  the  shape  in  u  hich  tin 

Viceroy's  flavor  would  be  most  agreeable  to  us. 

and    I   came  here  prepared  to  find  you  equally 
informed    on  the  matter." 

"Ah,  indeed!  I  know  nothing — positively 
nothing.  Atlee  telegraphed  me,  'See  Kearney, 
and  hear  what   he  has  to  say.       I   write  bj    p08t. 

Atlee.'    There's  the  whole  of  it." 

"  And  the  letter — " 

'The  letter  is  there.  It  came  by  the  late 
mail,  and  I  have  not  opened  it." 

••  Would  it  not  be  better  to  glance  over  it  now  ?" 
said  Dick,  mildly. 


so 


LORD  KILGOBBIX. 


"Not  if  you  can  give  me  the  substance  by 
word  of  mouth.  Time,  they  tell  us,  is  money, 
and  as  I  have  got  very  little  of  either,  I  am 
obliged  to  be  parsimonious.  What  is  it  you 
want  ?  I  mean  the  sort  of  thing  we  could  help 
you  to  obtain.  I  see,"  said  he,  smiling,  "you 
had  rather  I  should  read  Atlee's  letter.  Well, 
here  goes."    He  broke  the  envelope,  and  began  : 

"  '  My  dear  Mr.  Walpole, — I  hoped  by  this 
time  to  have  had  a  report  to  make  you  of  what 
I  had  done,  heard,  seen,  and  imagined  since  my 
arrival,  and  yet  here  I  am  now  toward  the  close 
of  my  second  week,  and  I  have  nothing  to  tell ; 
and  beyond  a  sort  of  confused  sense  of  being  im- 
mensely delighted  with  my  mode  of  life,  1  am 
totally  unconscious  of  the  Might  of  time. 

' ' '  His  Excellency  received  me  once  for  ten 
minutes,  and  later  on,  after  some  days,  for  half 
an  hour  :  for  he  is  confined  to  bed  with  gout,  and 
forbidden  by  his  doctor  all  mental  labor.  He 
was  kind  and  courteous  to  a  degree,  hoped  I 
should  endeavor  to  make  myself  at  home — giv- 
ing orders  at  the  same  time  that  my  dinner  should 
be  served  at  my  own  hour,  and  the  stables  placed 
at  my  disposal  for  riding  or  driving.  For  occu- 
pation, he  suggested  I  should  see  what  the  news- 
papers were  saying,  and  make  a  note  or  two  if 
any  thing  struck  me  as  remarkable. 

"  '  Lady  Maude  is  charming — and  I  use  the 
epithet  in  all  the  significance  of  its  sorcery.  She 
conveys  to  me  each  morning  his  Excellency's 
instructions  for  my  day's  work ;  and  it  is  only 
by  a  mighty  effort  I  can  tear  myself  from  the 
magic  thrill  of  her  voice  and  the  captivation  of 
her  manner  to  follow  what  I  have  to  reply  to, 
investigate,  and  remark  on. 

"  'I  meet  her  each  day  at  luncheon,  and  she 
says  she  will  join  me  "some  day  at  dinner." 
When  that  glorious  occasion  arrives,  I  shall  call 
it  the  event  of  my  life,  for  her  mere  presence 
stimulates  me  to  such  effort  in  conversation  that 
I  feel  in  the  very  lassitude  afterward  what  a 
strain  my  faculties  have  undergone.' 

"What  an  insufferable  coxcomb,  and  an  id- 
iot, to  boot!"  cried  Walpole.  "  I  could  not  do 
him  a  more  spiteful  turn  than  to  tell  my  cousin 
of  her  conquest.  There  is  another  page,  I  see,  of 
the  same  so.t.  But  here  you  are — this  is  all 
about  you :  I'll  read  it.  '  In  re  Kearney.  The 
Irish  are  always  logical;  and  as  Miss  Kearney 
once  shot  some  of  her  countrymen  when  on  a 
mission  they  deemed  national,  her  brother  opines 
that  he  ought  to  represent  the  principles  thus  in- 
volved in  Parliament.' " 

' '  Is  this  the  way  in  which  he  states  my  claims  ?" 
broke  in  Dick,  with  ill-suppressed  passion. 

"  Bear  in  mind,  Mr.  Kearney,  this  jest — and  a 
very  poor  one  it  is — wras  meant  for  me  alone.  The 
communication  is  essentially  private,  and  it  is 
only  through  my  iudiscretion  you  know  any  thing 
of  it  whatever." 

"I  am  not  aware  that  any  confidence  should 
entitle  him  to  write  such  an  impertinence." 

"In  that  case,  I  shall  read  no  more,"  said 
Walpole,  as  he  slowly  refolded  the  letter.  "The 
fault  is  all  on  my  side,  Mr.  Kearney,"  he  contin- 
ued :  "  but  I  own  I  thought  you  knew  your  friend 
so  thoroughly  that  extravagance  on  his  part  could 
have  neither  astonished  nor  provoked  you." 

"You   are  perfectly   right.  Mr.  Walpole.     I 


apologize  for  my  impatience.  It  was,  perhaps,  in 
hearing  his  words  read  aloud  by  another  that  I 
forgot  myself;  and  if  you  will  kindly  continue  the 
reading,  I  will  promise  to  behave  more  suitably 
in  future." 

Walpole  re-opened  the  letter,  but,  whether  in- 
disposed to  trust  the  pledge  thus  given  or  to  pro- 
long the  interview,  ran  his  eyes  over  one  side  and 
then  turned  to  the  last  page.  "  I  see,"  said  he, 
"he  augurs  ill  as  to  your  chances  of  success ;  he 
opines  that  you  have  not  well  calculated  the  great 
cost  of  the  venture,  and  that  in  all  probability  it 
has  been  suggested  by  some  friend  of  question- 
able discretion.  'At  all  events'" — and  here  he 
read  aloud — "  '  at  all  events,  his  Excellency  says. 
"We  should  like  to  mark  the  Kilgobbin  affair 
by  some  show  of  approbation  ;  and  although 
supporting  young  K.  in  a  contest  for  his  county 
is  a  '  higher  figure'  than  we  meant  to  pay,  see 
him,  and  hear  what  he  has  to  say  of  his  prospects 
— what  he  can  do  to  obtain  a  seat,  and  what  he 
will  do  if  he  gets  one.  We  need  not  caution  him 
against"' — hum,  hum,  hum,"  muttered  he,  slur- 
ring over  the  words,  and  endeavoring  to  pass  on 
to  something  else. 

"May  I  ask  against  what  I  am  supposed  to 
be  so  secure  ?" 

"  Oh,  nothing,  nothing.  A  very  small  imper- 
tinence, but  which  Mr.  Atlee  found  irresistible." 

"  Praylet  me  hear  it.     It  shall  not  irritate  me." 

"He  says,  'There  will  be  no  more  fear  of 
bribery  in  your  case  than  of  a  debauch  at  Lather 
Mathew's.'" 

"  He  is  right  there,"  said  Kearney,  with  great 
temper.  "  The  only  difference  is  that  our  for- 
bearance will  be  founded  on  something  stronger 
than  a  pledge." 

Walpole  looked  at  the  speaker,  and  was  evi- 
dently struck  by  the  calm  command  he  had  dis- 
played of  his  passion. 

"  If  we  could  forget  Joe  Atlee  for  a  few  min- 
utes, Mr.  Walpole.  we  might  possibly  gain  some- 
thing. I,  at  least,  would  be  glad  to  know  how 
far  I  might  count  on  the  government  aid  in  my 
project." 

"JHa,  you  want  to — in  fact,  you  would  like 
that  we  should  give  you  something  like  a  regular 
— eh  ? — that  is  to  say,  that  you  could  declare  to 
certain  people — naturally  enough,  I  admit;  but 
here  is  how  we  are,  Kearney.  Of  course  what  I 
say  now  is  literally  between  ourselves,  and  strict- 
ly'confidential." 

"I  shall  so  understand  it,"  said  the  other, 
gravely. 

"Well,  now,  here  it  is.  The  Irish  vote,  as 
the  Yankees  would  call  it.  is  of  undoubted  value 
to  us,  but  it  is  confoundedly  dear '.  With  Paul 
Cullen  on  one  side  and  Fenianism  on  the  other, 
we  have  no  peace.  Time  was  when  you  all 
pulled  the  one  way,  and  a  sop  to  the  Pope 
pleased  you  all.  Now  that  will  suffice  no  longer. 
The  '  Sovereign  Pontiff  dodge'  is  the  surest  of  all 
ways  to  offend  the  Nationals  ;  so  that,  in  reality, 
what  we  want  in  the  House  is  a  number  of  liberal 
Irishmen  who  will  trust  the  government  to  do  as 
much  for  the  Catholic  Church  as  English  bigotry 
will  permit,  and  as  much  for  the  Irish  peasant  as 
will  not  endanger  the  rights  of  property  over  the 
Channel." 

"There's  a  wide  field  there,  certainly,"  said 
Dick,  smiling. 

"Is  there  not?"  cried  the  other,  exultingly. 


LORD  Kll.i.niu'.lN. 


"Not  only  docs  it  bowl  over  the  Established 
Church  and  Protestant  ascendency,  but  it  inverts 
the  position  of  landlord  and  tenant.  To  unsettle 
every  thing  in  Ireland,  so  that  any  body  might 
hope  to  be  any  thing,  or  to  own  Heaven  knows 
what — to  legalize  gambling  for  existence  to  a  peo- 
ple who  delight  in  high  play,  and  yet  not  involve 
as  in  a  civil  war — was  a  grand  policy,  Kearney,  a 
very  grand  policy.  Not  thai  1  expect  a  young, 
ardent  spirit  like  yourself,  fresh  from  college  am- 
bitions and  high-flown  hopes,  will  take  this  view." 

Dick  only  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"Just  so."  resumed  Walpole.  "I  could  not 
expect  you  to  like  this  programme,  and  1  know 

already  all  that  you  allege  against  it  ;  hut.  as  B. 
says,  Kearney,  the  man  who  rules  Ireland  must 
know  how  to  take  command  of  a  ship  iii  a  state 
of  mutiny,  and  yet  never  suppress  the  revolt. 
There's  the  problem — as  much  discipline  as  you 
tan,  a-  much  indiscipline  as  you  can  hear.  The 
brutal  old  Tories  used  to  master  the  crew,  and 
hang  the  ringleaders;  and  for  that  matter,  they 
might  have  hanged  the  whole  ship's  company. 
We  know  better,  Kearney  ;  and  we  have  so  con- 
fused and  addled  them  by  our  policy  that,  if  a 
fellow  were  to  strike  his  captain,  he  would  never 
be  quite  sure  whether  he  was  to  be  strung  up  at 
i  he  gangway,  or  made  a  petty  officer.  Do  you 
see  it  now  ?a 

"I  can  scarcely  say  that  I  do  see  it — I  mean, 
that  I  see  it  as  you  do." 

"  I  scarcely  could  hope  that  you  should,  or, 
at  least,  that  you  should  do  so  at  once  ;  but  now, 
as  to  this  seat  for  King's  County,  I  believe  we 
have  already  found  our  man.  I'll  not  be  sure, 
nor  will  I  ask  you  to  regard  the  matter  as  fixed 
on.  hut  I  suspect  we  are  in  relations — you  know 
what  I  mean — with  an  old  supporter,  who  has 
been  beaten  half  a  dozen  times  in  our  interest, 
but  is  ei  miing  up  once  more.  I'll  ascertain  about 
this  positively,  and  let  you  know.  And  then" — 
here  he  drew  breath  freely  and  talked  more  at 
ease — "if  we  should  find  our  hands  free,  and 
that  we  see  our  way  clearly  to  support  you,  what 
assurance  could  you  give  us  that  you  would  go 
through  with  the  contest,  and  fight  the  battle 
out  ?" 

"  I  believe,  if  I  engage  in  the  struggle,  I  shall 
continue  to  the  end,"  said  Dick,  half  doggedly. 

"  Your  personal  pluck  and  determination  I  do 
not  question  for  a  moment.  Now  let  us  see" — 
here  he  seemed  to  ruminate  for  some  seconds, 
and  looked  like  one  debating  a  matter  with  him- 
self. "Yes,"  cried  heat  last,  "I  believe  that 
will  be  the  best  way.  I  am  sure  it  will.  When 
do  you  go  back,  Mr.  Kearney — to  Kilgobbin,  I 
mean  ?" 

••  My  intention  was  to  go  down  the  day  after 
to-morrow." 

"That  will  be  Friday.  Let  us  see;  what  is 
Friday  ?     Friday  is  the  16th,  is  it  not?" 

"Yes." 

"Friday,"  muttered  the  other — "Friday? 
There's  the  Education  Board,  and  the  Harbor 
Commissioners,  and  something  else  al  —  to  be  sure, 
a  visit  to  the  Popish  schools  with  Dean  O'.Maho- 
ny.     You  couldn't  make  it  Saturday,  could  you  ?" 

■•  Not  conveniently.     I  had  already  arranged 

a  plan  for  Saturday.  But  why  should  1  delay 
here — to  what  end  '?" 

"Only  that,  if  you  could  say  Saturday,  I  would 
like  to  go  down  with  you." 


From  the  mode  in  which  he  said  these  words  it 
was  clear  that  he  looked  tor  an  almost  rapturous 

acceptance  of  his  gracious  proposal;   but  Dick 

did  not  regard  the  project  in  that  light,  nor  was 
he  overjoyed  in  the  least  at  the  proposal. 

"I   mean,"  said  Walpole,  hastening  to  relieve 

the  awkwardness  of  Bilence — "  I  mean  that  1 

could  talk  over  this  affair  with  your  father  in  a 
practical  business  fashion  thai  you  could  scarcely 
enter  into.  Still,  if  Saturday  could  not  be  man- 
aged, I'll  try  if  I  could  not  run  down  with  you 
jon  Friday.  Only  for  a  day.  remember.  I 
must  return  by  the  evening  train.  We  shall  ar- 
rive by  what  hour?" 

"By  breakfast-time,"  said  Dick,  but  still  not 
overgraciously. 

"Nothing  could  be  better;  that  will  give  us  a 
'  long  day,  and  I  should  like  a  full  discussion  with 
your  father.  You'll  manage  to  send  me  on  to — 
what's  the  name  ?" 

"Moate." 

"Moate.  Yes;  that's  the  place.  The  up- 
train  leaves  at  midnight,  I  remember.  Now 
that's  all  settled.  You'll  take  me  up,  then,  here 
on  Friday  morning,  Kearney,  on  your  way  to  the 
station,  and  meanwhile  I'll  set  to  work,  and  put 
off  these  deputations  and  circulars  till  Saturday, 
when,  I  remember,  I  have  a  dinner  with  the 
Provost.  Is  there  any  thing  more  to  be  thought 
of?" 

"I  believe  not," muttered  Dick,  still  sullenly. 

"By-by,  then,  till  Friday  morning,"  said  he, 
as  he  turned  toward  his  desk,  and  began  arran- 
ging a  mass  of  papers  before  him. 

"  Here's  a  jolly  mess,  with  a  vengeance,"  mut- 
tered Kearney,  as  he  descended  the  stair.  ''The. 
Viceroy's  private  secretary  to  be  domesticated 
with  a  '  head-centre'  and  an  escaped  convict. 
There's  not  even  the  doubtful  comfort  of  being 
able  to  make  my  family  assist  me  through  the 
difficulty." 


CHAPTER  NXXIII. 

PLMNUDDM    CASTLE,   NORTH    WALKS. 

Among  the  articles  of  that  wardrobe  of  Cecil 
Walpole's  of  which  Atlee  had  possessed  himself 
so  unceremoniously  there  was  a  very  gorgeous 
blue  dress-coat,  with  the  royal  button  and  alin- 
ing of  sky-blue  silk,  which  formed  the  appropri- 
ate costume  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  rice-regal 
household.  This,  with  a  waistcoat  to  match. 
Atlee  had  carried  off  with  him  in  the  nidi-crim- 
inating haste  of  a  last  moment,  and  although 
thoroughly  understanding  that  he  could  not  avail 
himself  of  a  costume  so  distinctively  the  mark  of 
a  condition,  yet,  by  one  of  the  contrarieties  of  his 
Strange  nature,  in  which  the  desire  for  an  as- 
sumption of  any  kind  was  a  passion  —  he  had 
tried  on  that  coat  fully  a  do/.ni  line-,  and  while 
admiring  how  well  it  became  him.  and  how  per- 
fectly it  seemed  to  suit  his  face  and  figure,  he 
had  dramatized  to  himself  the  pail  of  an  aid  dt  - 
camp  in  waiting,  rehearsing  the  little  speeches  in 
which  he  presented  this  or  that  imaginary  person 

to  his  Excellency,  ami  coining  the  -mall  money  of 
epigram  in  which  he  related  the  new  -  of  the  day. 
••  How  I  should  cut  out  those  dreary  subalterns 
with  their  mess-room  drolleries— how  I  should 
shame  those  tiresome  cornets,  whose  only  glitter 
is  on  their  sabretasches  !"  muttered  he.  as  he  sur- 


88 


LORD  KTLGOBBIN. 


veyed  himself  in  his  courtly  attire.  "  It  is  all 
nonsense  to  say  that  the  dress  a  man  wears  can 
only  impress  the  surrouuders.  It  is  on  himself,  on 
his  own  nature  and  temper,  his  mind,  his  faculties, 
his  very  ambition — there  is  a  transformation  ef- 
fected ;  and  I,  Joe  Atlee,  feel  myself,  as  I  move 
about  in  this  costume,  a  very  different  man  from 
that  humble  creature  in  gray  tweed,  whose  very 
coat  reminds  him  he  is  a  '  cad,'  and  who  has  but 
to  look  in  the  glass  to  read  his  condition." 

On  the  morning  that  he  learned  that  Lady 
Maude  would  join  him  that  day  at  dinner  Atlee 
conceived  the  idea  of  appearing  in  this  costume. 
It  was  not  only  that  she  knew  nothing  of  the 
Irish  court  and  its  habits,  but  she  made  an  almost 
ostentatious  show  of  her  indifference  to  all  about 
it,  and  in  the  few  questions  she  asked  the  tone  of 
interrogation  might  have  suited  Africa  as  much 
as  Ireland.  It  was  true,  she  was  evidently 
puzzled  to  know  what  place  or  condition  Atlee 
occupied ;  his  name  was  not  familiar  to  her,  and 
yet  he  seemed  to  know  every  thing  and  every 
body,  enjoyed  a  large  share  of  his  Excellency's 
confidence,  and  appeared  conversant  with  every 
detail  placed  before  him. 

That  she  would  not  directly  ask  him  what 
place  he  occupied  in  the  household  he  well  knew, 
and  he  felt  at  the  same  time  what  a  standing  and 
position  that  costume  would  give  him,  what  self- 
confidence  and  ease  it  would  also  confer,  and  how, 
for  once  in  his  life  free  from  the  necessity  of  as- 
serting a  station,  he  could  devote  all  his  energies 
to  the  exercise  of  agreeability  and  those  resources 
of  small-talk  in  which  he  knew  he  was  a  master. 

Besides  all  this,  it  was  to  be  his  last  day  at  the 
Castle — he  was  to  start  the  next  morning  for 
Constantinople,  with  all  the  instructions  regard- 
ing the  spy  Speridionides,  and  he  desired  to  make 
a  favorable  impression  on  Lady  Maude  before  he 
left.  Though  intensely — even  absurdly — vain, 
Atlee  was  one  of  those  men  who  are  so  eager  for 
success  in  life  that  they  are  ever  on  the  watch 
lest  any  weakness  of  disposition  or  temper  should 
serve  to  compromise  their  chances,  and  in  this 
way  he  was  led  to  distrust  what  he  would  in  his 
puppyism  have  liked  to  have  thought  a  favorable 
effect  produced  by  him  on  her  ladyship.  She 
was  intensely  cold  in  manner,  and  yet  he  had 
made  her  more  than  once  listen  to  him  with  in- 
terest. She  rarely  smiled,  and  he  had  made  her 
actually  laugh.  Her  apathy  appeared  complete, 
and  yet  he  had  so  piqued  her  curiosity  that  she 
could  not  forbear  a  question. 

Acting  as  her  uncle's  secretary,  and  in  con- 
stant communication  with  him,  it  was  her  affecta- 
tion to  imagine  herself  a  political  character,  and 
she  did  not  scruple  to  avow  the  hearty  contempt 
she  felt  for  the  usual  occupation  of  women's  lives. 
Atlee's  knowledge  therefore  actually  amazed  her ; 
his  hardihood,  which  never  forsook  him,  enabled 
him  to  give  her  the  most  positive  assurances  on 
any  thing  he  spoke ;  and  as  he  had  already  fath- 
omed the  chief  prejudices  of  his  Excellency,  and 
knew  exactly  where  and  to  what  his  political  wish- 
es tended,  she  heard  nothing  from  her  uncle  but 
expressions  of  admiration  for  the  just  views,  the 
clear  and  definite  ideas,  and  the  consummate  skill 
with  which  that  "young  fellow"  distinguished 
himself. 

"  We  shall  have  him  in  the  House  one  of  these 
days,"  he  would  say  ;  "and  I  am  much  mistaken 
if  he  will  not  make  a  remarkable  figure  there." 


When  Lady  Maude  sailed  proudly  into  the 
library  before  dinner  Atlee  was  actually  stunned 
by  amazement  at  her  beauty.  Though  not  in 
actual  evening  dress,  her  costume  was  that  sort 
of  demi-toilet  compromise  which  occasionally  is 
most  becoming;  and  the  tasteful  lappet  of  Brus- 
sels lace  which,  interwoven  with  her  hair,  fell 
down  on  either  side  so  as  to  frame  her  face,  soft- 
ened its  expression  to  a  degree  of  loveliness  he 
was  not  prepared  for. 

It  was  her  pleasure — her  caprice  perhaps — to 
be  on  this  occasion  unusually  amiable  and  agree- 
able. Except  by  a  sort  of  quiet  dignity,  there 
was  no  coldness,  and  she  spoke  of  her  uncle's 
health  and  hopes  just  as  she  might  have  discuss- 
ed them  with  an  old  friend  of  the  house. 

When  the  butler  flung  wide  the  foldingt-doors 
into  the  dining-room  and  announced  dinner  she 
was  about  to  move  on,  when  she  suddenly 
stopped,  and  said,  with  a  faint  smile,  "  Will  you 
give  me  your  arm  ?  Very  simple  words,  and  com- 
monplace too,  but  enough  to  throw  Atlee's  whole 
nature  into  a  convulsion  of  delight.  And  as  he 
walked  at  her  side  it  was  in  the  very  ecstasy  of 
pride  and  exultation. 

Dinner  passed  off  with  the  decorous  solemni- 
ty of  that  meal,  at  which  the  most  emphatic  ut- 
terances were  the  butler's  "  Marcobrunner"  or 
"  Johannisberg. "  The  guests,  indeed,  spoke  lit- 
tle, and  the  strangeness  of  their  situation  rather 
disposed  to  thought  than  conversation. 

"  You  are  going  to  Constantinople  to-morrow, 
Mr.  Atlee,  my  uncle  tells  me,"  said  she,  after  a 
longer  silence  than  usual. 

' '  Yes ;  his  Excellency  has  charged  me  with  a 
message,  of  which  I  hope  to  acquit  myself  well, 
though  I  own  to  my  misgivings  about  it  now." 

' '  You  are  too  diffident,  perhaps,  of  your  pow- 
ers," said  she;  and  there  was  a  faint  curl  of  the 
lip  that  made  the  words  sound  equivocally. 

"I  do  not  know  if  great  modesty  be  among 
my  failings,"  said  he,  laughingly.  "My  friends 
would  say  not." 

"You  mean,  perhaps,  that  you  are  not  with- 
out ambitions?" 

"That  is  true.  I  confess  to  very  bold  ones." 
And  as  he  spoke  he  stole  a  glance  toward  her; 
but  her  pale  face  never  changed. 

"  I  wish,  before  you  had  gone,  that  you  had 
settled  that  stupid  muddle  about  the  attack  on — 
I  forget  the  place." 

"Kilgobbin?" 

"Yes,  Kil-gobbin — horrid  name  !  for  the  Pre- 
mier still  persists  in  thinking  there  was  some- 
thing in  it,  and  worrying  my  uncle  for  explana- 
tions ;  and  as  somebody  is  to  ask  something  when 
Parliament  meets,  it  would  be  as  well  to  have  a 
letter  to  read  to  the  House." 

"  In  what  sense,  pray?"  asked  Atlee,  mildly. 

"Disavowing  all;  stating  that  the  story  had 
no  foundation ;  that  there  was  no  attack— no  re- 
sistance— no  member  of  the  vice-regal  household 
present  at  any  time." 

' '  That  would  be  going  too  far ;  for  then  we 
should  next  have  to  deny  Walpole's  broken  arm 
and  his  long  confinement  to  house." 

"You  may  serve  coffee  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
Marconi,"  said  she,  dismissing  the  butler;  and 
then,  as  he  left  the  room — "And  you  tell  me 
seriously  there  was  a  broken  arm  in  this  case?" 

"  I  can  hide  nothing  from  you,  though  I  have 
taken  an  oath  to  silence,"  said  he,  with  an  energy 


LORD  K1LGOBBIN. 


s:i 


that  Beemed  to  defy  repression.     "  I  will  tell  you 

every  thing,  though  it's  little  Bhort  "fa  perjury, 
"iily  premising  this  much,  that  L  know  nothing 
from  Walpole  himself." 

With  this  niueh  of  preface,  lie  went  on  to  de- 
scribe Walpole 's  visit  to  Kilgobbin  as  one  of  those 


he  carried  on  a  fierce  flirtation  with  a  pretty  Irian 

girl." 

■■  And  there  was  a  flirtation  ':" 

"Yea,  but  nothing  more.  Nothing  really  se- 
rious at  any  time.  So  tar  he  behaved  frankly 
and  well,  lor  even  at  the  outset  of  the  affair  he 


lilfj 


adventurous  exploits  which  young  Englishmen 
fancy  they  have  ;i  sort  of  right  to  perforin  in  the 
less  civilized  country. 

"He  imagined,  I  have  no  doubt,"  said  he, 
•'that  he  was  studying  the  condition  of  Ire- 
land, and  investigating  the  land  question,  when 


owned  to— a  what  shall  I  call  it  ?— an  entangle- 
ment was,  I  believe,  his  own  word— an  entangle- 
ment in  England — " 

"  Did  he  not  state  more  of  this  entanglement 
—  with  whom  it  was.  or  how,  or  where?" 

"  I  should  think  not.     At  all  events,  they  who 


!H> 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


told  me  knew  nothing  of  these  details.  They 
only  knew,  as  he  said,  that  he  was  in  a  certain 
sense  tied  up,  and  that  till  fate  unbound  him  he 
was  a  prisoner." 

"Poor  fellow;  it  was  hard." 
"  So  he  said,  and  so  they  believed  him.     Not 
that  I  myself  believe  he  was  ever  seriously  in 
love  with  the  Irish  girl." 
"And  why  not?" 

"I  may  be  wrong  in  my  reading  of  him  ;  but 
my  impression  is  that  he  regards  marriage  as 
one  of  those  solemn  events  which  should  contrib- 
ute to  a  man's  worldly  fortune.  Now  an  Irish 
connection  could  scarcely  be  the  road  to  this." 

' '  What  an  ungallant  admission, "  said  she,  with 
a  smile.  "I  hope  Mr.  Walpole  is  not  of  your 
mind."  After  a  pause  she  said,  "And  how  was 
it  that  in  your  intimacy  he  told  you  nothing  of 
this?" 

He  shook  his  head  in  dissent. 

"Not  even  of  the  'entanglement  ?'" 

"Not  even  of  that.  He  would  speak  freely 
enough  of  his  'egregious  blunder,'  as  he  called 
it,  in  quitting  his  career  and  coming  to  Ireland  ; 
that  it  was  a  gross  mistake  for  any  man  to  take 
up  Irish  politics  as  a  line  in  life;  that  they  were 
puzzles  in  the  present,  and  lead  to  nothing  in  the 
future ;  and,  in  fact,  that  he  wished  himself  back 
again  in  Italy  every  day  he  lived." 

"  Was  there  any  '  entanglement'  there  also  ?" 

"I  can  not  say.  On  these  he  made  me  no 
confidences." 

"Coffee,  my  lady!"  said  the  butler,  entering 
at  this  moment.  Nor  was  Atlee  grieved  at  the 
interruption. 

"  I  am  enough  of  a  Turk, "  said  she,  laughingly, 
"  to  like  that  muddy,  strong  coffee  they  give  you 
in  the  East,  and  where  the  very  smallness  of  the 
cups  suggests  its  strength.  You,  I  know,  are 
impatient  for  your  cigarette,  Mr.  Atlee,  and  I  am 
about  to  liberate  you."  While  Atlee  was  mut- 
tering his  assurances  of  how  much  he  prized  her 
presence,  she  broke  in,  "  Besides,  I  promised  my 
uncle  a  visit  before  tea-time,  and  as  I  shall  not 
see  you  again,  I  will  wish  you  now  a  pleasant 
journey  and  a  safe  return." 

"  Wish  me  success  in  my  expedition,"  said  he, 
eagerly. 

"  Yes,  I  will  wish  that  also.  One  word  more. 
I  am  very  short-sighted,  as  you  may  see,  but  you 
wear  a  ring  of  great  beauty.     May  I  look  at  it  ?" 

"  It  is  pretty,  certainly.  It  was  a  present  Wal- 
pole made  me.  I  am  not  sure  that  there  is  not 
a  story  attached  to  it,  though  I  don't  know  it." 

"Perhaps  it  may  be  linked  with  the  'entan- 
glement,'" said  she,  laughing  softly. 

"  For  aught  I  know,  so  it  may.  Do  you  ad- 
mire it  ?" 

"  Immensely,"  said  she,  as  she  held  it  to  the 
light. 

"You  can  add  immensely  to  its  value  if  you 
will,"  said  he,  diffidently. 

"In  what  way  ?" 

"By  keeping  it,  Lady  Maude,"  said  he;  and 
for  once  his  cheek  colored  with  the  shame  of 
his  own  boldness. 

"May  I  purchase  it  with  one  of  my  own? 
Will  you  have  this,  or  this?"  said  she,  hurriedly. 

"Any  thing  that  once  was  yours,"  said  he,  in 
a  mere  whisper. 

"  Good-by,  Mr.  Atlee." 

And  he  was  alone ! 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


AT  TEA-TIME. 


The  family  at  Kilgobbin  Castle  were  seated  at 
tea  when  Dick  Kearney's  telegram  arrived.  It 
bore  the  address,  "Lord  Kilgobbin,"  and  ran 
thus : 

"Walpole  wishes  to  speak  with  you,  and  will 
come  down  with  me  on  Friday ;  his  stay  can  not 
be  beyond  one  day.  Richard  Kearney." 

"  What  can  he  want  with  me  ?"  cried  Kearney, 
as  he  tossed  over  the  dispatch  to  his  daughter. 
"If  he  wants  to  talk  over  the  election,  I  could 
tell  him  per  post  that  I  think  it  a  folly  and  an  ab- 
surdity. Indeed,  if  he  is  not  coming  to  propose 
for  either  my  niece  or  my  daughter,  he  might 
spare  himself  the  journey." 

"Who  is  to  say  that  such  is  "not  his  intention, 
papa?"  said  Kate,  merrily.  "Old  Catty  had  a 
dream  about  a  piebald  horse,  and  a  haystack  on 
lire,  and  something  about  a  creel  of  duck-eggs, 
and  I  trust  that  every  educated  person  knows 
what  they  mean." 

"I  do  not,"  cried  Nina,  boldly. 

"Marriage,  my  dear.  One  is  marriage  by 
special  license,  with  a  bishop  or  a  dean  to  tie  the 
knot;  another  is  a  runaway  match.  I  forget 
what  the  eggs  signify." 

"An  unbroken  engagement,"  interposed  Don- 
ogan,  gravely,  "so  long  as  none  of  them  are 
smashed." 

"On  the  whole,  then,  it  is  very  promising  tid- 
ings," said  Kate. 

"It  may  be  easy  to  be  more  promising  thav, 
the  election,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  I'm  not  flattered,  uncle,  to  hear  that  I'm  eas- 
ier to  win  than  a  seat  in  Parliament." 

"  That  does  not  imply  you  are  not  worth  a 
great  deal  more,"  said  Kearney,  with  an  air  of 
gallantry.  "I  know,  if  I  wtis  a  young  fellow, 
which  I'd  strive  most  for.  Eh,  Mr.  Daniel  ?  I 
see  you  agree  with  me." 

Donogan's  face,  slightly  flushed  before,  became 
now  crimson,  as  he  sipped  his  tea  in  confusion, 
unable  to  utter  a  word. 

"And  so,"  resumed  Kearney,  "he'll  only  give 
us  a  day  to  make  up  our  minds !  It's  lucky, 
girls,  that  you  have  the  telegram  there  to  tell 
you  what's  coming." 

' '  It  would  have  been  more  piquant,  papa,  if  he 
had  made  his  message  say,  '  I  propose  for  Nina. 
Reply  by  wire.' " 

"  Or,  'May  I  marry  your  daughter  ?' "  chimed 
in  Nina,  quickly. 

"There  it  is,  now,"  broke  in  Kearney,  laugh- 
ing; "  you're  fighting  for  him  already !  Take  my 
word  for  it,  Mr.  Daniel,  there's  no  so  sure  way  to 
get  a  girl  for  your  wife  as  to  make  her  believe 
there's  another  only  waiting  to  be  asked.  It's 
the  threat  of  the  opposition  coach  on  the  road 
keeps  down  the  fares." 

"Papa  is  all  wrong,"  said  Kate.  "There  is 
no  such  conceivable  pleasure  as  saying  No  to  a 
man  that  another  woman  is  ready  to  accept.  It 
is  about  the  most  refined  sort  of  self-flattery  im- 
aginable. " 

"Not  to  say  that  men  are  utterly  ignorant  of 
that  freemasonry  among  women  which  gives  us 
all  an  interest  in  the  man  who  marries  one  of 
us,"  said  Nina.  "It  is  only  your  confirmed  old 
bachelor  that  we  all  agree  in  detesting." 


LORD  K1LGOBBIX. 


91 


"Faith,  I  give  you  op  altogether.  You're  a 
puzzle  clean  beyond  me,"  said  Kearney,  with  a 
agh. 

"  I  think  it  is  Balzac  tells  us,"  said  Donogan, 
"that  women  and  politics  are  the  only  two  ex- 
citing pursuits  in  life,  for  you  never  can  tell  where 
either  of  them  will  lead  yon." 

"And  who  is  Balzac?"  asked  Kearney. 

■•()h.  uncle,  don't  let  me  hear  you  ask  who  is 
the  greatest  novelist  that  ever  lived  !" 

"Faith,  my  dear,  except  'Tristram  Shandy,' 
and  'Tom  Jones,"  ami  maybe  'Robinson  Cru- 
soe1— if  that  be  a  novel — my  experience  goes  a 
short  way.  When  I  am  not  reading  what's  use- 
fa] — as  in  the  Farm  r's  ( 'kronicle  or  '  1'urceU's 
Rotation  of  (-"tops' — 1  like  the  'accidents'  in  the 
newspapers,  where  they  give  you  the  name  of  the 
gentleman  that  was  smashed  in  the  train,  and  tell 
you  how  his  wife  was  within  ten  days  of  her  third 
confinement ;  how  it  was  only  last  week  he  got 
a  step  as  a  clerk  in  Somerset  House.  Haven't 
you  more  materials  for  a  sensation  novel  there 
than  any  of  your  three-volume  fellows  will  give 
you?" 

"The  times  we  are  living  in  give  most  of  us 
excitement  enough, "said  Donogan.  "The  man 
who  wants  to  gamble  for  life  itself  need  not  be 
balked  now.'' 

'"Vou  mean  that  a  man  can  take  a  shot  at  an 
emperor?"  said  Kearney,  inquiringly. 

"No,  not  that  exactly:  though  there  are 
stakes  of  that  kind  some  men  would  not  shrink 
from.  What  are  called  'arms  of  precision'  have 
had  a  great  influence  on  modern  politics.  When 
there's  no  time  for  a  plebiscite,  there's  always 
time  for  a  pistol." 

"  Bad  morality,  Mr.  Daniel,"  said  Kearney, 
gravely. 

"  I  suspect  we  do  not  fairly  measure  what  Mr. 
Daniel  -ays,"  broke  in  Kate.  "He  may  mean 
to  indicate  a  revolution,  and  not  justify  it." 

"I  mean  both,"  said  Donogan.  "I  mean 
that  the  mere  permission  to  live  under  a  bad 
government  is  too  high  a  price  to  pay  for  life  at 
all.  I'll  rather  go  'down  into  the  streets.'  as 
they  call  it,  and  have  it  out,  than  I'd  drudge  on, 
dogged  by  policemen,  and  sent  to  jail  on  sus- 
picion." 

"lie  is  right,"  cried  Nina.  "If  I  were  a 
man,  I'd  think  as  he  does." 

"Then  I'm  very  glad  you're  not,"  said  Kear- 
ney: "though,  for  the  matter  of  rebellion,  I  be- 
lieve you  would  be  a  more  dangerous  Fenian  as 
you  ate.      Am  I  right,  .Mr.  Daniel  ?" 

"  I  am  deposed  to  say  you  are,  Sir,"  was  his 
mild  reply. 

"Ain't  we  important  people  this  evening!" 
cried  Kearney,  us  the  servant  entered  with  an- 
other telegram.  "This  i>  for  you,  Mr.  Daniel. 
I  hope  we're  to  hear  that  the  Cabinet  wants  you 
in  Downing  Street." 

"I'd  rather  it  did  not,"  said  he,  with  a  very 
peculiar  smile,  which  did  not  escape  Kate's  keen 
glance  across  the  table,  a-  he  .-aid,  "  May  I  read 

my  dispatch  ?" 

"By  all  means,"  said  Kearney;  while,  to  leave 

him  more  undisturbed,  he  tinned  to  Nina,  with 
some  quizzical  remark  about  her  turn  for  the  tel- 
egraph coming  next.  "What  news  would  you 
wish  it  should  bring  you,  Nina?"  asked  he. 

"I  scarcely  know.  I  have  go  many  things  to 
wish  for,  I  should  be  puzzled  which  to  place  first." 


"Should  you  like  to  be  Queen  of  Greece?" 

asked  Kate. 

"  First  tell  me  if  there  is  to  be  a  king,  and  who 

is  he  ?" 

"Maybe it's  Mr.  Daniel  there,  for  I  see  he  has 
gone  off  in  a  great  hurry  to  say  he  accepts  the 

crown." 

"What  should  you  ask  for,  Kate,"  cried  Nina, 
"if  fortune  were  civil  enough  to  give  you  a 
chance?" 

"Two  days'  rain  for  my  turnips,"  said  Kate. 
quickly.  "  I  don't  remember  wishing  for  any 
thing  BO  much  in  all  my  life." 

"  Your  turnips!"  cried  Nina,  contemptuously. 

"  Why  not  ?  If  you  were  a  queen,  would  you 
not  have  to  think  of  those  who  depended  on  yon 
for  support  and  protection?  And  how  should  1 
forget  my  poor  heifers  and  my  calves — calves  of 
very  tender  years,  some  of  them— and  all  with  as 
great  desire  to  fatten  themselves  as  any  of  us 
have  to  do  what  will  as  probably  lead  to  our  de- 
struction ?" 

"You're  not  going  to  have  the  rain,  anyhow," 
said  Kearney;  "and  you'll  not  be  sorry,  Nina, 
for  you  wanted  a  fine  day  to  finish  your  sketch 
of  Croghan  Castle." 

"  Oh !  by-the-way,  has  old  Bob  recovered  from 
his  lameness  yet,  to  be  fit  to  be  driven  ?" 

"Ask  Kitty  there  ;   she  can  tell  you  perhaps." 

"Well,  I  don't  think  I'd  harness  him  yet. 
The  smith  has  pinched  him  in  the  oft'  forefoot, 
and  he  goes  tender  still." 

"So  do  I  when  I  go  afoot,  for  I  hate  it,"  cried 
Nina;  "and  I  want  a  day  in  the  open  air.  and 
I  want  to  finish  my  old  Castle  of  Croghan,  and, 
last  of  all,"  whispered  she  in  Kate's  ear,  "  I  want 
to  show  my  distinguished  friend  Mr.  Walpole 
that  the  prospect  of  a  visit  from  him  does  not 
induce  me  to  keep  the  house.  So  that,  from 
all  the  wants  put  together,  I  shall  take  an  early 
breakfast,  and  start  to-morrow  for  Cruhan — is 
not  that  the  name  of  the  little  village  in  the 
bog?" 

"  That's  Miss  Betty's  own  town-land — though 
I  don't  know  she's  much  the  richer  of  her  ten- 
ants," said  Kearney,  laughing.  "  The  oldest  in- 
habitants never  remember  a  rent-day." 

"What  a  happy  set  of  people!" 

"Just  the  reverse.  You  never  saw  misery  till 
you  saw  them.  There  is  not  a  cabin  fit  tor  a 
human  being,  nor  is  there  one  creature  in  the 
place  with  enough  rags  to  cover  him." 

"They  were  very  civil  as  I  drove  through.  I 
remember  how  a  little  basket  had  fallen  out,  ami 
a  girl  followed  me  ten  miles  of  the  road  to  re- 
store it,"  said  Nina. 

"That  they  would;  and  if  it  were  a  purse  of 
gold  they'll  have  done  the  Bam 6,"  cried  Kate. 

"Won't you  say  that  they'd  -hoot  you  for  half 
a  crown,  though?  said  Kearney,  "and  that  the 
worst  '  Whiteboys'  of  Ireland  come  out  of  the 
same  village  ?" 

"  I  do  like  a  people  so  unlike  all  the  rot  of 
the  world,"  died  Nina;  "who-e  motives  none 
can  guess  at,  none  forecast.  I'll  go  there  to- 
morrow.'' 

These  WOrdfl  were  Said  as  Daniel  had  just  re- 
entered   the    room,  and    he    .stopped    and  asked, 

••  Where  to  ?" 

"To  a  Whiteboy  village  called  Cruhan,  some 
ten  mile-  off,  close  to  an  old  castle  I  have  been 
sketching." 


92 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"  Do  you  mean  to  go  there  to-morrow  ?"  asked 
he,  half  carelessly ;  but,  not  waiting  for  her  an- 
swer, and  as  if  fully  preoccupied,  lie  turned  and 
left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

A    DRIVE    AT    StTNEISE. 

The  little  basket-carriage  in  which  Nina  made 
her  excursions,  and  which  courtesy  called  a  pha- 
eton, woidd  scarcely  have  been  taken  as  a  model 
at  Long  Acre.  A  massive  old  wicker-cradle 
constituted  the  body,  which,  from  a  slight  ine- 
quality in  the  wheels,  had  got  an  uncomfortable 
"lurch  to  port,"  while  the  rumble  was  supplied 
by  a  narrow  shelf,  on  which  her  foot-page  sat 
dos-a-dos  to  herself — a  position  not  rendered 
more  dignified  by  his  invariable  habit  of  playing 
pitch-and-toss  with  himself,  as  a  means  of  dis- 
traction in  travel. 

Except  Bob,  the  sturdy  little  pony  in  the 
shafts,  nothing  could  be  less  schooled  or  disci- 
plined than  Larry  himself.  At  sight  of  a  party 
at  marbles  or  hop-scotch,  he  was  sure  to  desert 
his  post,  trusting  to  short-cuts  and  speed  to  catch 
up  his  mistress  later  on. 

As  for  Bob,  a  tuft  of  clover  or  fresh  grass  on 
the  road-side  was  temptation  to  the  full  as  great 
to  him,  and  no  amount  of  whipping  could  induce 
him  to  continue  his  road  leaving  these  dainties 
untasted.  As  in  Mr.  Gill's  time  he  had  carried 
that  important  personage,  he  had  contracted  the 
habit  of  stopping  at  every  cabin  by  the  way,  giv- 
ing to  each  halt  the  amount  of  time  he  believed 
the  colloquy  should  have  occupied,  and  then, 
without  any  admonition,  resuming  his  journey. 
In  fact,  as  an  index  to  the  refractory  tenants  on 
the  estate,  his  mode  of  progression,  with  its  inter- 
ruptions, might  have  been  employed,  and  the  stur- 
dy fashion  in  which  he  would  ' '  draw  up"  at  cer- 
tain doors  might  be  taken  as  the  forerunner  of 
an  ejectment. 

The  blessed  change  by  which  the  county  saw 
the  beast  now  driven  by  a  beautiful  young  lady, 
instead  of  bestrode  by  an  inimical  bailiff,  added 
to  a  popularity  which  Ireland  in  her  poorest  and 
darkest  hour  always  accords  to  beauty ;  and  they, 
indeed,  who  trace  points  of  resemblance  between 
two  distant  peoples,  have  not  failed  to  remark 
that  the  Irish,  like  the  Italians,  invariably  refer 
all  female  loveliness  to  that  type  of  surpassing 
excellence,  the  Madonna. 

Nina  had  too  much  of  the  South  in  her  blood 
not  to  like  the  heartfelt,  outspoken  admiration 
which  greeted  her  as  she  went;  and  the  "God 
bless  you — but  you  are  a  lovely  crayture!"  de- 
lighted, while  it  amused  her  in  the  way  the  qual- 
ification was  expressed. 

It  was  soon  after  sunrise  on  this  Friday  morn- 
ing that  she  drove  down  the  approach,  and  made 
her  way  across  the  bog  toward  Cruhan.  Though 
pretending  to  her  uncle  to  be  only  eager  to  finish 
her  sketch  of  Croghan  Castle,  her  journey  was 
really  prompted  by  very  different  considerations. 
By  Dick's  telegram  she  learned  that  Walpole  was 
to  arrive  that  day  at  Kilgobbin,  and  as  his  stay 
could  not  be  prolonged  beyond  the  evening,  she 
secretly  determined  she  would  absent  herself  so 
much  as  she  could  from  home — only  returning  to 
a  late  dinner — and  thus  show  her  distinguished 


friend  how  cheaply  she  held  the  occasion  of  his 
visit,  and  what  value  she  attached  to  the  pleas- 
ure of  seeing  him  at  the  Castle. 

She  knew  Walpole  thoroughly — she  understood 
the  working  of  such  a  nature  to  perfection,  and 
she  could  calculate  to  a  nicety  the  mortification, 
and  even  anger,  such  a  man  would  experience  at 
being  thus  slighted.  "  These  men,"  thought  she, 
"only  feel  for  what  is  done  to  them  before  the 
world ;  it  is  the  insult  that  is  passed  upon  them 
in  public,  the  soufflet  that  is  given  in  the  street, 
that  alone  can  wound  them  to  the  quick."  A 
woman  may  grow  tired  of  their  attentions,  be- 
come capricious  and  change,  she  may  be  piqued 
by  jealousy,  or,  what  is  worse,  by  indifference ; 
but  while  she  makes  no  open  manifestation  of 
these,  they  can  be  borne :  the  really  insupport- 
able thing  is  that  a  woman  should  be  able  to  ex- 
hibit a  man  as  a  creature  that  had  no  possible 
concern  or  interest  for  her — one  who  might  come 
or  go,  or  stay  on,  utterly  unregarded  or  uncared 
for.  To  have  played  this  game  during  the  long 
hours  of  a  long  day  was  a  burden  she  did  not  fan- 
cy to  encounter,  whereas  to  fill  the  part  for  the 
short  space  of  a  dinner,  and  an  hour  or  so  in  the 
drawing-room,  she  looked  forward  to  rather  as 
an  exciting  amusement. 

"  He  has  had  a  day  to  throw  away,"  said  she 
to  herself,  ' '  and  he  will  give  it  to  the  Greek  girl. 
I  almost  hear  him  as  he  says  it.  How  one  learns 
to  know  these  men  in  every  nook  and  crevice  of 
their  natures  !  and  how  by  never  relaxing  a  hold 
on  the  one  clew  of  their  vanity  one  can  trace  even- 
emotion  of  their  lives !" 

In  her  old  life  of  Rome  these  small  jealousies, 
these  petty  passions  of  spite,  defiance,  and  wound- 
ed sensibility,  filled  a  considerable  space  of  her 
existence.  Her  position  in  society,  dependent  as 
she  was,  exposed  her  to  small  mortifications ;  the 
cold  semi-contemptuous  notice  of  women  who 
saw  she  was  prettier  than  themselves,  and  the 
half-swaggering  carelessness  of  the  men,  who  felt 
that  a  bit  of  flirtation  with  the  Titian  girl  was 
as  irresponsible  a  thing  as  might  be. 

"  But  here,"  thought  she,  "  I  am  the  niece  of 
a  man  of  recognized  station ;  I  am  treated  in 
his  family  with  a  more  than  ordinary  deference 
and  respect — his  very  daughter  would  cede  the 
place  of  honor  to  me,  and  my  will  is  never  ques- 
tioned. It  is  time  to  teach  this  pretentious  fine 
gentleman  that  our  positions  are  not  what  they 
once  were.  If  I  were  a  man,  I  should  never 
cease  till  I  had  fastened  a  quarrel  on  him ;  and 
being  a  woman,  I  could  give  my  love  to  the  man 
who  would  avenge  me.  Avenge  me  of  what  ?  a 
mere  slight,  a  mood  of  impertinent  forgetfulness 
— nothing  more — as  if  any  thing  could  be  more 
to  a  woman's  heart !  A  downright  wrong  can 
be  forgiven,  an  absolute  injury  pardoned — one  is 
raised  to  self-esteem  by  such  an  act  of  forgive- 
ness ;  but  there  is  no  elevation  in  submitting  pa- 
tiently to  a  slight.  It  is  simply  the  confession 
that  the  liberty  taken  with  you  was  justifiable, 
was  even  natural." 

These  were  the  sum  of  her  thoughts  as  she 
went,  ever  recurring  to  the  point  how  Walpole 
would  feel  offended  by  her  absence,  and  how  such 
a  mark  of  her  indifference  would  pique  his  van- 
ity, even  to  insult. 

Then  she  pictured  to  her  mind  how  this  fine 
gentleman  would  feel  the  boredom  of  that  dreary 
day.     True,  it  would  be  but  a  day ;   but  these 


LORD  KJXGOBBIN. 


!>:; 


men  were  not  tolerant  of  tho  people  who  made 
time  pass  heavily  with  them,  and  they  revenged 
their  own  ennui  on  all  around  them.  Hovi  he 
would  snub  the  old  man  tor  the  Bon'a  pretensions, 

and  Bneer  at  the  young  man  for  his  dispropor- 

tioned  ambition!    and.  last  of  all,  how  he  would 

mystify  poot  Kate,  till  Bhe  never  knew  whether 

lie  cared  to  fatten  wives  and  turkeys,  or  Was 
simply  drawing  her  on  to  little  details,  which  he 
was    to   dramatize   one    day   in    an    after-dinner 

story ! 
she  thought  of  the  closed  piano-forte,  and  her 

music  on  the  top — the  songs  he  loved  best ;  she 
had  actually  left  Mendelssohn  there  to  be  seen — 
a  very  bait  to  awaken  his  passion.  She  thought 
she  actually  saw  the  fretful  impatience  with  which 
he  threw  the  music  aside  and  walked  to  the  win- 
dow to  hide  his  anger. 

"  'This  excursion  of  Mademoiselle  Nina  was, 
then,  a  sudden  thought,  you  tell  me ;  only  planned 
last  night?  And  is  the  country  considered  safe, 
enough  for  a  young  lady  to  go  oft'  in  this  fash- 
ion ?  Is  it  secure — is  it  decent  ?'  I  know  he 
will  ask,  '  Is  it  decent  ?'  Kate  will  not  feel — 
.-he  will  not  see  the  impertinence  with  which  he 
will  assure  her  that  she  herself  may  be  privileged 
to  do  these  things — that  her  'Irish  ry'  was  itself 
a  safeguard;  but  Dick  will  notice  the  sneer.  Oh, 
if  he  would  but  resent  it !  How  little  hope  there 
is  of  that!  These  young  Irishmen  get  so  over- 
laid by  the  English  in  early  life,  they  never  resist 
their  dominance :  they  accept  every  thing  in  a 
sort  of  natural  submission.  I  wonder  does  the 
rebel  sentiment  make  them  any  bolder?"  And 
then  she  bethought  her  of  some  of  those  national 
Mings  Mr.  Daniel  had  been  teaching  her,  and 
which  seemed  to  have  such  an  overwhelming  in- 
fluence over  his  passionate  nature.  She  had 
even  seen  the  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  twice  he 
could  not  speak  to  her  with  emotion.  What  a 
triumph  it  would  have  been  to  have  made  the 
high-bred  Mr.  Walpole  feel  in  this  wise!  Possi- 
bly at  the  moment  the  vulgar  Fenian  seemed  the 
finer  fellow.  Scarcely  had  the  thought  struck 
her,  than  there,  about  fifty  yards  in  advance,  and 
walking  at  a  tremendous  pace,  was  the  very  man 
himself. 

"Is  not  that  Mr.  Daniel,  Larry?"  asked  she, 
quickly. 

But  Larry  had  already  struck  off  on  a  short- 
cut across  the  hog,  and  was  miles  away. 

Y  ■-.  it  could  be  none  other  than  Mr.  Daniel. 
The  coat  thrown  back,  the  loose-Stepping  stride, 
and  the  occasional  flourish  of  the  stick  as  he 
went,  all  proclaimed  the  man.  The  noise  of  the 
wheels  on  the  hard  road  made  him  turn  his  head  : 
and  now,  seeing  who  it  was,  he  stood  uncovered 
till  she  drove  up  beside  him. 

••  Who  would  have  thought  to  see  you  here  at 
this  hour:"  -aid  he,  saluting  her  with  deep  respect. 

••  No  .me  i-  more  Burprised  al  it  than  myself," 

-aid   Bhe,  laughing;    ••but    1    have   a  parti]    done 

-ketch  of  an  old  castle,  ami  I  thought  in  llii-  line 
autumn  weather  I  should  like  to  throw  in  the  col- 
or. And  besides,  there  are  now  and  then  with 
me  unsocial  moments  when  I  fancy  I  like  to  be 
alone.     Do  you  know-  what  these  are  V" 

'■  I  >o  1  know  ? — too  well." 

"These  motives,  then,  not  to  think  of  others, 
led  me  to  plan  this  excursion  ;  and  now  will  you 
be  as  candid,  and  say  what  is  your  project  ?" 

"I  am  bound  for  a  little  village  culled  Cruhan 


— a  very  poor,  unenticmg  -pot  ;  but  I  waul  to  see 
the  people  there,  and  hear  what  they  -ay  of  these 
rumors  of  new  laws  about  the  land." 

•"And  can  they  fell  you  any  thing  that   would 

be  likelj  to  interest  you  f" 

"  Yes  :  their  very  mistakes  would  convey  their 
hope-  j  and  hope-  have  come  to  mean  a  great 
deal  in   Ireland." 

"  ( )ur  roads  are,  then,  the  same.  I  am  on  in\ 
way  to  ( iroghan  <  astle." 

"Croghan  is  but  a  mile  from  my  village  of 
Cruhan,"  said  he. 

"  I  am  aware  of  that,  and  it  was  in  your  vil- 
lage of  Cruhan,  as  you  call  it,  I  meant  to  stable 
my  pony  till  I  had  finished  my  sketch  ;  but  my 
gentle  page,  Larry,  I  see.  has'  deserted  me.    'l 

don't  know  if  I  -hall  find  him  again." 

'■  AN" ill  you  let  me  be  your  groom?  I  shall  be 
at  the  village  almost  as  soon  as  yourself,  and  I'll 
look  after  your  pony." 

"Do  you  think  you  could  manage  to  seat 
yourself  on  that  shelf  at  the  back  ?" 

"It  is  a  great  temptation  you  offer  me,  if  I 
were  not  ashamed  to  be  a  burden." 

"Not  to  me,  certainly  ;  and  as  for  the  pony,  I 
scarcely  think  he'll  mind  it." 

"At  all  events,  I  shall  walk  the  hills." 

"I  believe  there  are  none.  If  I  remember 
aright,  it  is  all  through  a  level  bog." 

"You  were  at  tea  last  night  when  a  certain 
telegram  came  ?" 

"To  be  sure  I  was.  I  was  there,  too,  when 
one  came  for  you,  and  saw  you  leave  the  room 
immediately  after." 

'*In  evident  confusion  ?"  added  he,  smiling. 

"Yes,  I  should  say, in  evident  confusion.  At 
least  you  looked  like  one  who  had  got  some  very 
unexpected  tidings." 

'•  So  it  was.  There  is  the  message."  And  he 
drew  from  his  pocket  a  slip  of  paper,  with  the 
words,  "Walpole  is  coming  for  a  day.  Take 
care  to  be  out  of  the  way  till  he  is  gone." 

"  Which  means  that  he  is  no  friend  of  yours." 

"He  is  neither  friend  nor  enemy.  1  never 
saw  him;  but  he  is  the  private  secretary,  and,  I 
believe,  the  nephew,  of  the  Viceroy,  and  would 
find  it  very  strange  company  to  be  domiciled 
with  a  rebel." 

"And  you  ai'e  a  rebel?" 

"At  your  service,  Mademoiselle.  Kostalergi." 

"And  a  Fenian,  ami  head-centre?" 

"A  Fenian,  and  a  head-centre." 

"And  probably  ought  to  be  in  prison  ?" 

"  I  have  been  already,  and,  as  far  as  the  sen- 
tence of  English  law  goes,  should  be  still  there." 

••  How  delighted  1  am  to  know  that.  I  mean, 
what  a  thrilling  sensation  it  is  to  be  driving 
along  with  a  man  so  dangerous  that  the  whole 
country  would  be  up  and  in  pursuit  of  him  at  a 
mere  word." 

"That  is  true.  I  believe  I  should  be  worth 
some  hundred  pounds  to  any  one  who  would  cap- 
ture me.  I  suspect  it  is  the  only  way  1  could 
turn  to  valuable  account." 

"  What  if  I  were  to  drive  you  into  Moate  and 

give  you  up  ?" 

•■  Vou  might.     I'll  not  run  away." 
I     "I  should  go  straight  to  the  Podestfc,  or  what- 
ever be  is,  and  say,  '  Here  is  the  notorious  Daniel 

Donogan,  the  rebel  you  are  all  afraid  of.'" 

"How  came  you  by  my  name?"  asked  he, 
curtly. 


94 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


1 '  By  accident.  I  overheard  Dick  telling  it  to 
his  sister.  It  dropped  from  him  unawares,  and 
I  was  on  the  terrace  and  caught  the  words." 

"I  am  in  your  hands  completely,"  said  he,  in 
the  same  calm  voice ;  "  but  I  repeat  my  words — 
I'll  not  run  away." 

"That  is  because  you  trust  to  my  honor." 

"It  is  exactly  so — because  I  trust  to  your 
honor." 

"But  how  if  I  were  to  have  strong  convictions 
in  opposition  to  all  you  were  doing— how  if  I 
were  to  believe  that  all  you  intended  was  a  gross 
wrong  and  a  fearful  cruelty  ?" 

"Still  you  would  not  betray  me.  You  would 
say,  'This  man  is  an  enthusiast — he  imagines 
scores  of  impossible  things — but,  at  least,  he  is 
not  a  self-seeker  —  a  fool,  possibly,  but  not  a 
knave.     It  would  be  hard  to  hang  him.'  " 

"So  it  would.     I  have  just  thought  that." 

"And  then  you  might  reason  thus:  'How 
will  it  serve  the  other  cause  to  send  one  poor 
wretch  to  the  scaffold,  where  there  are  so  many 
just  as  deserving  of  it  ?' " 

"And  are  there  many?" 

"I  should  say  close  on  two  millions  at  home 
here,  and  some  hundred  thousand  in  America." 

"And  if  you  be  as  strong  as  you  say,  what 
craven  creatures  you  must  be  not  to  assert  your 
own  convictions!" 

"So  we  are — I'll  not  deny  it — craven  creat- 
ures; but  remember  this,  mademoiselle,  we  are 
not  all  like-minded.  Some  of  us  would  be  sat- 
isfied with  small  concessions,  some  ask  for  more, 
some  demand  all ;  and  as  the  government  hig- 
gles with  some,  and  hangs  the  others,  it  mystifies 
us  all,  and  ends  by  confounding  us." 

"  That  is  to  say,  you  are  terrified." 

"  Well,  if  you  like  that  word  better,  I'll  not 
quarrel  about  it." 

"I  wonder  how  men  as  irresolute  ever  turn  to 
rebellion.  When  our  people  set  out  for  Crete, 
they  went  in  another  spirit  to  meet  the  enemy." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  that.  The  boldest  fel- 
lows in  that  exploit  were  the  liberated  felons: 
they  fought  with  desperation,  for  they  had  left 
the  hangman  behind." 

"  How  dare  you  defame  a  great  people !"  cried 
she,  angrily. 

"  I  was  with  them,  mademoiselle.  I  saw  them, 
and  fought  among  them ;  and  to  prove  it,  I  will 
speak  modern  Greek  with  you  if  you  like  it." 

"Oh,  do,"  said  she.  "  Let  me  hear  those  no- 
ble sounds  again,  though  I  shall  be  sadly  at  a  loss 
to  answer  you.  I  have  been  years  and  years 
away  from  Athens." 

"I  know  that.  I  know  your  story  from  one 
who  loved  to  talk  of  you,  all  unworthy  as  he  was 
of  such  a  theme." 

' '  And  who  was  this  ?" 

"Atlee — Joe  Atlee,  whom  you  saw  here  some 
months  ago." 

"I  remember  him,"  said  she,  thoughtfully. 

"  He  was  here,  if  I  mistake  not,  with  that  oth- 
er friend  of  yours  you  have  so  strangely  escaped 
from  to-day." 

"Mr.  Walpole?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Walpole ;  to  meet  whom  would  not 
have  involved  you,  at  least,  in  any  contrariety. " 

"Is  this  a  question,  Sir?  Am  I  to  suppose 
your  curiosity  asks  an  answer  here?" 

"I  am  not  so  bold ;  but  I  own  my  suspicions 
have  mastered  my  discretion,  and,  seeing  you 


here  this  morning,  I  did  think  you  did  not  care 
to  meet  him." 

"Well,  Sir,  you  were  right.  I  am  not  sure 
that  my  reasons  for  avoiding  him  were  exactly 
as  strong  as  yours,  but  they  sufficed  for  me." 

There  was  something  so  like  reproof  in  the 
way  these  words  were  uttered  that  Donogan  had 
not  courage  to  speak  for  some  time  after.  At 
last  he  said,  "In  one  thing  your  Greeks  have 
an  immense  advantage  over  us  here.  In  your 
popular  songs  you  could  employ  your  own  lan- 
guage, and  deal  with  your  own  wrongs  in  the  ac- 
cents that  became  them.  We  had  to  take  the 
tongue  of  the  conqueror,  which  was  as  little  suit- 
ed to  our  traditions  as  to  our  feelings,  and  trav- 
estied both.  Only  fancy  the  Greek  vaunting  his 
triumphs  or  bewailing  his  defeats  in  Turkish  !" 

"What  do  you  know  of  Mr.  Walpole?"  asked 
she,  abruptly. 

"Very  little  beyond  the  fact  that  he  is  an 
agent  of  the  government,  who  believes  that  he 
understands  the  Irish  people." 

"Which  you  are  disposed  to  doubt  ?" 

"I  only  know  that  I'm  an  Irishman,  and  I  do 
not  understand  them.  An  organ,  however,  is 
not  less  an  organ  that  it  has  many  '  stops. '  " 

"I  am  not  sure  Cecil  Walpole  does  not  read 
you  aright.  He  thinks  that  you  have  a  love  of 
intrigue  and  plot,  but  without  the  conspirator 
element  that  Southern  people  possess ;  and  that 
your  native  courage  grows  impatient  at  the  de- 
lays of  mere  knavery,  and  always  betrays  you." 

"That  distinction  was  never  his — that  was 
your  own." 

"  So  it  was  ;  but  he  adopted  it  when  he  heard 
it." 

"That  is  the  way  the  rising  politician  is  edu- 
cated," cried  Donogan.  "  It  is  out  of  these  pet- 
ty thefts  he  makes  all  his  capital,  and  the  poor 
people  never  suspect  how  small  a  creature  can  be 
their  millionaire." 

"Is  not  that  our  village  yonder,  where  I  see 
the  smoke?" 

"Yes;  and  there  on  the  stile  sits  your  little 
groom  awaiting  you.     I  shall  get  down  here." 

"  Stay  where  you  are,  Sir.  It  is  by  your  blun- 
der, not  by  your  presence,  that  you  might  com- 
promise me."  And  this  time  her  voice  caught  a 
tone  of  sharp  severity  that  suppressed  reply. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE  EXCURSION. 

The  little  village  of  Cruhan-bawn,  into  which 
they  now  drove,  was,  in  every  detail  of  wretch- 
edness, dirt,  ruin,  and  desolation,  intensely  Irish. 
A  small  branch  of  the  well-known  bog-stream, 
the  "Brusna,"  divided  one  part  of  the  village 
from  the  other,  and  between  these  two  settle- 
ments so  separated  there  raged  a  most  rancorous 
hatred  and  jealousy,  and  Cruhan-beg,  as  the 
smaller  collection  of  hovels  was  called,  detested 
Cruhan-bawn  with  an  intensity  of  dislike  that 
might  have  sufficed  for  a  national  antipathy, 
where  race,  language,  and  traditions  had  contrib- 
uted their  aids  to  the  animosity. 

There  was,  however,  one  real  and  valid  reason 
for  this  inveterate  jealousy.  The  inhabitants  of 
Cruhan-beg — who  lived,  as  they  said  themselves, 
"beyond  the  river,"  strenuously  refused  to  pay 


LORD  R1LGOBBIN. 


any  rent  for  their  hovels;  while  "the  cis-Brus- 
naites."  as  they  may  be  termed,  demeaned  them- 
selves to  the  condition  of  tenants  in  so  far  as  to 
acknowledge  the  obligation  of  rent,  though  the 
oldest  inhabitant  vowed  he  had  never  seen  a  re- 
ceipt in  his  life,  nor  had  the  very  least  conception 
of  a  gale-day. 

If,  therefore,  actually,  there  was  not  much  to 
separate  them  on  the  score  of  principle,  they  were 
widely  apart  in  theory,  and  the  sturdy  denizens 
of  the  smaller  village  looked  down  upon  the  oth- 
ers as  the  ignoble  slaves  of  a  Saxon  tyranny. 
The  village  in  its  entirety — for  the  division  was 
a  purely  local  and  arbitrary  one — belonged  to 
Mi~s  Betty  I  >'Shea,  forming  "the  extreme  edge  of 
her  estate  as  it  merged  into  the  vast  bog;  and, 
with  the  habitual  fate  of  frontier  populations,  it 
contained  more  people  of  lawless  lives  and  reck 
less  habits  than  were  to  be  found  for  miles  around 
There  was  not  a  resource  of  her  ingenuity  she 
had  not  employed  for  years  back  to  bring  these 
refractory  subjects  into  the  pale  of  a  respectable 
tenantry.  Every  process  of  the  law  had  been 
essayed  in  turn.  They  had  been  hunted  down 
by  the  police,  unroofed,  and  turned  into  the  wide 
bog;  their  chattels  had  been  "canted,*'  and 
themselves — a  last  resource — cursed  from  the  al- 
tar ;  but,  with  that  strange  tenacity  that  pertains 
to  life  where  there  is  little  to  live  for,  these  creat- 
nres  survived  all  modes  of  persecution,  and  came 

back  into  their  ruined  hovels  to  defy  the  law  and 
beard  the  Church,  and  went  on  living— in  some 
strange,  mysterious  way  of  their  own— an  open 
challenge  to  all  political  economy,  and  a  sore  puz- 
zle to  The.  Tiims  commissioner  when  he  came 
to  report  on  the  condition  of  the  cottier  in  Ire- 
land. 

At  certain  seasons  of  county  excitement — such 
as  an  election  or  an  unusually  weighty  assizes 
it  was  not  deemed  perfectly  safe  to  visit  the  vil- 
lage, and  even  the  police  would  not  have  adven- 
tured on  the  step  except  with  a  responsible  force. 
At  other  periods  the  most  marked  feature  of  the 


place  would  be  that  of  utter  vacuity  and  desola- 
tion. A  single  inhabitant  here  and  there  smok- 
ing li-tle-slv  :it  his  door  a  group  of  women,  with 
their  arms  concealed  beneath  their  aprons,  crouch- 
ing under  a  ruined  wall,  or  a  lew  ragged  children, 
too  miserable  and  dispirited  even  for  play,  would 

I"'  all  that  would  be  seen. 

At  a  spot  where  the  stream  was  fordable  for  a 
horse,  the  page  I. any  had  already  stationed  him- 
self, and  now  walked  into  the  river,  which  rose 
over  his  knees,  to  show  the  road  to  his  mistress. 
"The  bailiffs  is  on  them  to-day,"  said  be.  with 
a  gleeful  look  in  his  eye;  for  any  excitement, 
no  matter -at  what  cost  to  others,  was  intensely 
pleasurable  to  him. 

"  What  is  he  saying  ?"  asked  Nina. 
"They   are   executing  some  process   of  law 
against  these  people,"  muttered  Donogan.    "It's 
an  old  story  in  Ireland ;  but  I  had  as  soon  you 
had  been  spared  the  sight." 

"  Is  it  quite  safe  for  yourself?"  whispered  she. 
"  Is  there  not  some  danger  in  being  seen  here?" 
"Oh,  if  I  could  but  think  that  you  cared — I 
mean  ever  so  slightly,"  cried  he,  with  fervor,  "  I'd 
call  this  moment  of  my  danger  the  proudest  of 
my  life!" 

Though  declarations  of  this  sort — more  or  less 
sincere  as  chance  might  make  them — were  things 
Nina  was  well  used  to,  she  could  not  help  mark- 
ing the  impassioned  manner  of  him  who  now 
spoke,  and  bent  her  eyes  steadily  on  him. 

"It  is  true,"  said  he,  as  if  answering  the  in- 
terrogation in  her  gaze.  "A  poor  outcast  as  I 
am — a  rebel — a  felon — any  thing  you  like  to  call 
me — the  slightest  show  of  your  interest  in  me 
gives  my  life  a  value  and  my  hope  a  purpose  1 
never  knew  till  now." 

"  Such  interest  would  be  but  ill-bestowed  if  it 
only  served  to  heighten  your  danger.  Are  you 
known  here?" 

"He  who  has  stood  in  the  dock  as  I  have  is 
sure  to  be  known  by  some  one.  Not  that  the 
people  would  betray  me.  There  is  poverty  and 
misery  enough  in  that  wretched  village,  and  yet 
there's  not  one  so  hungry  or  so  ragged  that  he 
would  hand  me  over  to  the  law  to  make  himself 
rich  for  life." 

"  Then  what  do  you  mean  to  do  ?"  asked  she, 
hurriedly. 

"Walk  boldly  through  the  village  at  the  head 
of  your  puny,  as  I  am  now — your  guide  to  Cro- 
ghan  <  lastle." 

"But  we  were  to  have  stabled  the  beast  here. 
I  intended  to  have  gone  on  foot  to  Croghan." 

•■Which  you  can  not  now.  Do  you  know 
what  English  law  is.  lady?"  cried  he,  fiercely. 
"This  pony  and  this  carriage,  if  they  had  shelter 
here,  are  confiscated  to  the  landlord  for  his  rent. 
It's  little  use  to  say  you  owe  nothing  to  this  own- 
er of  the  soil:  it's  enough  'hat  they  are  found 
among  the  chattels  of  his  debtors." 
"I  can  not  believe  this  is  law." 
"  You  can  prove  it — at  the  loss  of  your  pony  ; 
and  it  is  mercy  and  generous  dealing  when  com- 
pared with  half  the  enactments  our  riders  have 
devised  tor  us.  follow  me.  I  see  the  police 
have  not  yet  come  down.  I  will  goon  in  front 
and  a-k  the  way  to.  Croghan." 

There  was  thai  wrl  of  peril  in  the  adventure 
now  that  stimulated  Nina  and  excited  her;  and 
as  they  stoutly  wended  their  way  through  the 
crowd,  she  was  far  from  insensible  to  the  looks 


96 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


of  admiration  that  were  bent  on  her  from  every 
side. 

"What  are  they  saying?"  asked  she;  "I  do 
not  know  their  language." 

"It  is  Irish,"  said  he;  "  they  are  talking  of 
your  beauty." 

" I  should  so  like  to  follow  their  words!"  said 
she,  with  the  smile  of  one  to  whom  such  homage 
bad  ever  its  charm. 

"That  wild-looking  fellow,  that  seemed  to  ut- 
ter an  imprecation,  has  just  pronounced  a  fer- 
vent blessing ;  what  he  has  said  was,  '  May  ev- 
ery glance  of  your  eye  be  a  candle  to  light  you  to 
glory!'" 

A  half-insolent  laugh  at  this  conceit  was  all 
Nina's  acknowledgment  of  it.  Short  greetings 
and  good  wishes  were  now  rapidly  exchanged 
between  Donogan  and  the  people,  as  the  little 
party  made  their  way  through  the  crowd — the 
men  standing  bareheaded,  and  the  women  utter- 
ing words  of  admiration,  some  even  crossing 
themselves  piously,  at  sight  of  such  loveliness  as, 
to  them,  recalled  the  ideal  of  all  beauty. 

"The  police  are  to  be  here  at  one  o'clock," 
said  Donogan,  translating  a  phrase  of  one  of  the 
by-standers. 

"And  is  there  any  thing  for  them  so  seize  on  ?" 
asked  she. 

"  No  ;  but  they  can  level  the  cabins,"  cried  he, 
bitterly.  ' '  We  have  no  more  right  to  shelter 
than  to  food." 

Moody  and  sad,  he  walked  along  at  the  pony's 
head,  and  did  not  speak  another  word  till  they 
had  left  the  village  far  behind  them. 

Larry,  as  usual,  had  found  something  to  inter- 
est him,  and  dropped  behind  in  the  village,  and 
they  were  alone. 

A  passing  countryman,  to  whom  Donogan  ad- 
dressed a  few  words  in  Irish,  told  them  that  a 
short  distance  from  Croghan  they  could  stable 
the  pony  at  a  small  "shebeen." 

On  reaching  this,  Nina,  who  seemed  to  have 
accepted  Donogan's  companionship  without  far- 
ther question,  directed  him  to  unpack  the  car- 
riage and  take  out  her  easel  and  her  drawing 
materials.  "You'll  have  to  carry  these— fortu- 
nately not  very  far,  though,"  said  she,  smiling; 
"and  then  you'll  have  to  come  back  here  and 
fetch  this  basket." 

"It  is  a  very  proud  slavery — command  me 
how  you  will,"  muttered  he,  not  without  emotion. 

"That,"  continued  she,  pointing  to  the  basket, 
"  contains  my  breakfast,  and  luncheon  or  dinner, 
and  I  invite  you  to  be  my  guest." 

"And  I  accept  with  rapture.  Oh  !"  cried  he, 
passionately,  "what  whispered  to  my  heart  this 
morning  that  this  would  be  the  happiest  day  of 
my  life  ?" 

"If  so,  fate  has  scarcely  been  generous  to 
you."  And  her  lip  curled  half-superciliously  as 
she  spoke. 

"  I'd  not  say  that.  I  have  lived  amidst  great 
hopes,  many  of  them  dashed,  it  is  true,  by  dis- 
appointment ;  but  who  that  has  been  cheered  by- 
glorious  day-dreams  has  not  tasted  moments  at 
least  of  exquisite  bliss  ?" 

"I  don't  know  that  I  have  much  sympathy 
with  political  ambitions,"  said  she,  pettishly. 

"Have  you  tasted  —  have  you  tried  them? 
Do  you  know  what  it  is  to  feel  the  heart  of  a  na- 
tion throb  and  beat — to  know  that  all  that  love 
can  do  to  purify  and  elevate  can  be  exercised  for 


the  countless  thousands  of  one's  own  race  and 
lineage,  and  to  think  that  long  after  men  have 
forgotten  your  name  some  heritage  of  freedom 
will  survive  to  say  that  there  once  lived  one  who 
loved  his  country  ?" 

"This  is  very  pretty  enthusiasm." 

"Oh,  how  is  it  that  you,  who  can  stimulate 
one's  heart  to  such  confessions,  know  nothing  of 
the  sentiment  ?" 

"I  have  my  ambitions,"  said  she,  coldly — 
almost  sternly. 

"Let  me  hear  some  of  them." 

"  They  are  not  like  yours,  though  they  are  per- 
haps just  as  impossible. "  She  spoke  in  a  broken, 
unconnected  manner,  like  one  who  was  talking 
aloud  the  thoughts  that  came  laggingly;  then, 
with  a  sudden  earnestness,  she  said,  "I'll  tell 
you  one  of  them.  It's  to  catch  the  broad  bold 
light  that  has  just  beat  on  the  old  castle  there, 
and  brought  out  all  its  rich  tints  of  grays  and  yel- 
lows in  such  a  glorious  wealth  of  color.  Place 
my  easel  here,  under  the  trees ;  spread  that  rug 
for  yourself  to  lie  on.  No — you  won't  have  it  ? 
Well,  fold  it  neatly,  and  place  it  there  for  my 
feet :  very  nicely  done.  And  now,  Signor  Ri- 
bello,  you  may  unpack  that  basket  and  arrange 
our  breakfast,  and  when  you  have  done  all  these, 
throw  yourself  down  on  the  grass,  and  either  tell 
me  a  pretty  story,  or  recite  some  nice  verses  for 
me,  or  be  otherwise  amusing  and  agreeable." 

"Shall  I  do  what  will  best  please  myself?  If 
so,  it  will  be  to  lie  here  and  look  at  you." 

"Be  it  so,"  said  she,  with  a  sigh.  "I  have 
always  thought,  in  looking  at  them,  how  saints 
are  bored  by  being  worshiped — it  adds  fearfully 
to  martyrdom,  but,  happily,  I  am  used  to  it.  '  Oh, 
the  vanity  of  that  girl  J'  Yes,  Sir,  say  it  out: 
tell  her  frankly  that  if  she  has  no  friend  to  caution 
her  against  this  besetting  wile,  that  you  will  be 
that  friend.  Tell  her  that  whatever  she  has  of 
attraction  is  spoiled  and  marred  by  this  self-con- 
sciousness, and  that  just  as  you  are  a  rebel  with- 
out knowing  it,  so  should  she  be  charming  and 
never  suspect  it.  Is  not  that  comingmicely?" 
said  she,  pointing  to  the  drawing.  '''See  how 
that  tender  light  is  carried  down  from  those  gray 
walls  to  the  banks  beneath,  and  dies  away  in  that 
little  pool,  where  the  faintest  breath  of  air  is  rus- 
tling. Don't  look  at  me,  Sir ;  look  at  my  draw- 
ing." 

"True,  there  is  no  tender  light  there,"  mut- 
tered he,  gazing  at  her  eyes,  where  the  enormous 
size  of  the  pupils  had  given  a  character  of  stead- 
fast brilliancy,  quite  independent  of  shape,  or 
size,  or  color. 

"You  know  very  little  about  it,"  said  she, 
saucily ;  then,  bending  over  the  drawing,  she 
said,  "That  middle  distance  wants  a  bit  of  col- 
or :  you  shall  aid  me  here." 

"  How  am  I  to  aid  you  ?"  asked  he,  in  sheer 
simplicity. 

"I  mean  that  you  should  be  that  bit  of  color, 
there.  Take  my"  scarlet  cloak,  and  perch  your- 
self yonder  on  that  low  rock.  A  few  minutes 
will  do.  Was  there  ever  immortality  so  cheaply 
purchased  !  Your  biographer  shall  tell  that  you 
were  the  figure  in  that  famous  sketch— what  will 
be  called,  in  the  cant  of  art,  one  of  Nina  Kosta- 
lergi's  earliest  and  happiest  efforts.  There,  now, 
dear  Mr.  Donogan,  do  as  you  are  bid." 

"Do  you  know  the  Greek  ballad,  where  a  youth 
remembers  that  the  word  '  dear'  has  been  coupled 


I.OK1)  KILGOBBIN. 


97 


with  liis  name — a  passing  courtesy,  if  even  BO 
much,  but  enough  to  light  np  a  whole  chamber 
in  his  heart  ?" 

"I  know  nothing  of  Greek  ballads.  How 
does  it  go  ?" 

"It  is  ;i  simple  melody,  in  a  low  key."    And 


"What  had  he  done  to  merit  such  a  hope?" 
said  >hc.  haughtily. 
••  Loved  her— only  loved  her!" 

'•What    value    you    men    must    attach    to   this 

gift  of  your  affection,  when  it  can  nourish  such 
thoughts  as  these]    four  very  willfulness  iBtowin 


lie  sang  in  a  deep  hut  tremulous  voice,  to  a  very 
plaintive  air, 

"I  took  her  hand  within  my  own, 
I  drew  her  pently  nearer, 
And  whispered  almost  on  her  cheek, 

'Oh,  would  that  I  were  dearer.' 
Dearer!    No,  that's  not  my  prayer: 

A  stranger,  e'en  the  merest, 
Might  chance  to  have  some  value  there; 
But  /  would  be  the  dearest." 
G 


us— is  not  that  your  theory?  I  expect  from  the 
man  who  offers  me  his  heart  that  he  means  to 
share  with  me  his  own  power  and  his  own  aml.i 
tion — to  make  me  the  partner  of  a  station  that  i- 
to  give  me  some  pre-eminence  I  had  not  known 
before,  nor  could  gain  unaided." 

"And  you  would   call   that   marrying  for 
lore?" 

"Why  not?     Who  has  such  a  claim  upon  mv 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


life  as  he  who  makes  the  life  worth  living  for  ? 
Did  you  hear  that  shout  ?" 

"  I  heard  it,"  said  he,  standing  still  to  listen. 
"It   came  from    the  village.      What  can   it 
mean  ?" 

"It  is  the  old  war-cry  of  the  houseless,"  said 
he,  mournfully.  ' '  It's  a  note  we  are  well  used 
to  here.  I  must  go  down  to  learn.  I'll  he  back 
presently." 

"  You  are  not  going  into  danger?"  said  she; 
and  her  cheek  grew  paler  as  she  spoke. 

"And  if  I  were,  who  is  to  care  for  it?" 

"Have  you  no  mother,  sister,  sweetheart?" 

"No,  not  one  of  the  three.     Good-by." 

"  But  if  I  were  to  say — stay  ?" 

"I  should  still  go.  To  have  your  love,  I'd 
sacrifice  even  my  honor.  Without  it — "  he  threw 
up  his  arms  despairingly  and  rushed  away. 

"These  are  the  men  whose  tempers  compro- 
mise us,"  said  she,  thoughtfully.  "We  come  to 
accept  their  violence  as  a  reason,  and  take  mere 
impetuosity  for  an  argument.  I  am  glad  that 
he  did  not  shake  my  resolution.  There,  that 
was  another  shout,  but  it  seemed  in  joy.  There 
was  a  ring  of  gladness  in  it.  Now  for  my 
sketch."  And  she  reseated  herself  before  her 
easel.  "He  shall  see  when  he  comes  back  how 
diligently  I  have  worked,  and  how  small  a  share 
anxiety  has  had  in  my  thoughts.  The  one  thing 
men  are  not  proof  against  is  our  independence  of 
them."  And  thus  talking  in  broken  sentences  to 
herself,  she  went  on  rapidly  with  her  drawing, 
occasionally  stopping  to  gaze  on  it,  and  hum- 
ming some  old  Italian  ballad  to  herself.  "  His 
Greek  air  was  pretty.  Not  that  it  was  Greek ; 
these  fragments  of  melody  were  left  behind  them 
by  the  Venetians,  who,  in  all  lust  of  power,  made 
songs  about  contented  poverty  and  humble  joys. 
I  feel  intensely  hungry,  and  if  my  dangerous 
guest  does  not  return  soon  I  shall  have  to  break- 
fast alone — another  way  of  showing  him  how  lit- 
tle his  fate  has  interested  me.  My  foreground 
here  does  want  that  bit  of  color.  Why  does  he 
not  come  back?"  As  she  rose  to  look  at  her 
drawing,  the  sound  of  somebody  running  at- 
tracted her  attention,  and  turning,  she  saw  it 
was  her  foot-page  Larry  coming  at  full  speed. 

"What  is  it,  Larry?  what  has  happened?" 
asked  she. 

"  You  are  to  go — as  fast  as  you  can,"  said  he ; 
which  being,  for  him,  a  longer  speech  than  usual, 
seemed  to  have  exhausted  him. 

"Go  where ?  and  why?" 

"Yes,"  said  he,  with  a  stolid  look,  "  you  are." 

"I  am  to  do  what?  Speak  out,  boy!  Who 
sent  you  here  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  he  again. 

"Are  they  in  trouble  yonder?  Is  there  fight- 
ing at  the  village  ?" 

"  No."  And  he  shook  his  head,  as  though  he 
said  so  regretfully. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  what  you  mean,  boy  ?" 

"The  pony  is  ready,"  said  he,  as  he  stooped 
down  to  pack  away  the  things  in  the  basket. 

"  Is  that  gentleman  coming  back  here — that 
gentleman  whom  you  saw  with  me  ?" 

"He  is  gone;  he  got  away."  And  here  he 
laughed  in  a  malicious  way  that  was  more  puz- 
zling even  than  his  words. 

"And  am  I  to  go  back  home  at  once?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  he,  resolutely. 

"  Do  you  know  why — for  what  reason  ?" 


"I  do." 

"Come,  then,  like  a  good  boy,  tell  me,  and 
you  shall  have  this."  And  she  drew  a  piece  of 
silver  from  her  purse,  and  held  it  temptingly  be- 
fore him.     "  Why  should  I  go  back,  now  ?" 

"Because,"  muttered  he,  "because — "  and  it 
was  plain,  from  the  glance  in  his  eyes,  that  the 
bribe  had  engaged  all  his  faculties. 

"  So,  then,  you  will  not  tell  me?"  said  she,  re- 
placing the  money  in  her  purse. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  in  a  despondent  tone. 

"You  can  have  it  still,  Larry,  if  you  will  but 
say  who  sent  you  here." 

11  He  sent  me,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Who  was  he  ?  Do  you  mean  the  gentleman 
who  came  here  with  me  ?"  A  nod  assented  to 
this.     "  And  what  did  he  tell  you  to  say  to  me  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  with  a  puzzled  look,  as  though 
once  more  the  confusion  of  his  thoughts  was 
mastering  him. 

"So,  then,  it  is  that  you  will  not  tell  me?" 
said  she,  angrily.  He  made  no  answer,  but  went 
on  packing  the  plates  in  the  basket.  "Leave 
those  there,  and  go  and  fetch  me  some  water 
from  the  spring  yonder."  And  she  gave  him  a 
jug  as  she  spoke,  and  now  she  reseated  herself 
on  the  grass.  He  obeyed  at  once,  and  returned 
speedily  with  the  water. 

"  Come  now,  Larry,"  said  she  kindly  to  him  ; 
"I'm  sure  you  mean  to  be  a  good  boy.  You 
shall  breakfast  with  me.  Get  me  a  cup,  and  I'll 
give  you  some  milk ;  here  is  bread  and  cold 
meat." 

"Yes,"  muttered  Larry,  whose  mouth  was  al- 
ready too  much  engaged  for  speech. 

"  Yon  will  tell  me  by-and-by  what  they  were 
doing  at  the  village,  and  what  that  shouting 
meant — won't  you  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  he,  with  a  nod.  Then  suddenly 
bending  his  head  to  listen,  he  motioned  with  his 
hand  to  keep  silence,  and,  after  a  long  breath, 
said,  "They're  coming." 

"Who  are  coming?"  asked  she,  eagerly;  but 
at  the  same  instant  a  man  emerged  from  the 
copse  below  the  hill,  followed  by  several  others, 
whom  she  saw  by  their  dress  and  equipment  to 
belong  to  the  constabulary. 

Approaching  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and 
with  that  air  of  servile  civility  which  marked  him, 
old  Gill  addressed  her.  "  If  it's  not  displazin' 
to  ye,  miss,  we  want  to  ax  you  a  few  questions," 
said  he. 

"You  have  no  right,  Sir,  to  make  any  such 
request,"  said  she,  with  a  haughty  air. 

"There  was  a  man  with  you,  my  lady,"  he 
went  on,  "  as  you  drove  through  Cruhan,  and 
we  want  to  know  where  he  is  now." 

"  That  concerns  you,  Sir,  and  not  me." 

"Maybe  it  does,  my  lady,"  said  he,  with  a 
grin  ;  "  but  I  suppose  you  know  who  you  were 
traveling  with  ?" 

"You  evidently  don't  remember,  Sir,  whom 
you  are  talking  to." 

"The  law  is  the  law,  miss,  and  there's  none 
of  us  above  it,"  said  he,  half-defiantly ;  "and 
when  there's  some  hundred  pounds  on  a  man's 
head  there's  few  of  us  such  fools  as  to  let  him 
slip  through  our  fingers." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Sir,  nor  do  I  care  to 
do  so." 

"The  sergeant  there  has  a  warrant  against 
him,"  said  he,  in  a  whisper  he  intended  to  be 


LORD  KILGOBMN. 


confidential;  "and  it's  not  to  do  any  thing  that 
your  ladyship  would  think  rude  that  I  came  op 
myself.  There's  how  it  is  now,"  muttered  he, 
still  lower.    "They  want  to  Bearch  the  luggage, 

and  examine  the  baskets  there,  ami  maybe,  it' 
von  don't  object,  they'd  look  through  the  car- 
riage." 

"  And  it"  I  should  object  to  this  insult  ?"  broke 
she  in. 

"  Faix.  I  believe. "  said  lie.  laughing,  '"they'd 
do  it  all  the  same.  Eight  handled — 1  think  it's 
eight — isn't  to  be  made  any  day  of  the  year!" 

"My  ancle  is  a  justice  of  the  peace,  Mr.  Gill; 
and  you  know  it'  he  will  sutler  such  an  outrage  to 
go  unpunished."' 

"There's  the  more  reason  that  a  justice  should 
not  harbor  a  Fenian,  miss,"  said  he,  boldly;  "as 
he'll  know  when  he  sees  the  search-warrant." 

"Get  ready  the  carriage,  Larry,"  said  she, 
turning  contemptuously  away,  "and  follow  me 
toward  the  village." 

"The  sergeant,  miss,  would  like  to  say  a  word 
or  two,'"  said  Gill,  in  his  accustomed  voice  of 
servility. 

"  I  will  not  speak  with  him,"  said  she,  proudly, 
and  swept  past  him. 

The  constables  stood  to  one  side,  and  saluted 
in  military  fashion  as  she  passed  down  the  hill. 
There  was  that  in  her  queen-like  gesture  and  car- 
riage that  so  impressed  them,  the  men  stood  as 
though  on  parade. 

Slowly  and  thoughtfully,  as  she  sauntered 
along,  her  thoughts  turned  to  Donogan.  Had 
he  escaped  ?  was  the  idea  that  never  left  her.  The 
presence  of  these  men  here  seemed  to  favor  that 
impression ;  but  there  might  be  others  on  his 
track,  and  if  so,  how  in  that  wild  bleak  space  was 
he  to  conceal  himself?  A  single  man  moving 
miles  away  on  the  bog  could  be  seen.  There  was 
no  covert,  no  shelter  any  where.  What  an  inter- 
est did  his  fate  now  suggest !  and  yet  a  moment 
back  she  believed  herself  indifferent  to  him. 
"Was  he  aware  of  his  danger,"  thought  she, 
"when  he  lay  there  talking  carelessly  to  me? 
was  that  recklessness  the  bravery  of  a  bold  man 
who  despised  peril  ?"  And  if  so,  what  stuff  these 
souls  were  made  of!  These  were  not  of  the  Kear- 
ney stamp,  that  needed  to  be  stimulated  and 
goaded  to  any  effort  in  life ;  nor  like  Atlee,  the 
fellow  who  relied  on  trick  and  knavery  for  suc- 
cess; still  less  Mich  as  Walpole,  self-worshipers 
and  tinners.  "  Yes,"  said  she,  aloud,  "a  woman 
might  fed  that  with  such  a  man  at  her  side  the 
battle  of  life  need  not  affright  her.  He  might 
venture  too  far,  he  might  aspire  to  much  that  was 
beyond  his  reach,  and  strive  for  the  impossible ; 
but  that  grand  bold  spirit  would  sustain  him,  and 
carry  him  through  all  the  smaller  storms  of  life; 
and  Mich  a  man  might  be  a  hero,  even  to  her, 
who  saw  him  daily.  These  are  the  dreamers,  as 
we  call  them,"  said  she.  "  How  strange  it  would 
be  if  they  should  prove  the  realists,  and  that  it 
was  we  should  be  the  mere  shadows!  It'  these 
be  the  men  who  move  empires  and  make  history, 
how  doubly  ignoble  are  we  in  our  contempt  of 
them  !"  And  then  she  bethought  her  what  a  dif- 
ferent faculty  was  that  great  faith  that  these  men 
had  in  themselves  from  common  vanity ;  and  in 
this  way  she  was  led  again  to  compare  Donogan 
and  Walpole. 

She  reached  the  village  before  her  little  car- 
riage had  overtaken  her,  and  saw  that  the  people 


stood  about  in  groups  and  knot-.     A  depressing 

silence  prevailed  over  them,  and  they  rarely  spoke 
above  a  whisper.  The  same  respectful  greeting, 
however,  which  welcomed  her  before  in<-t  h,i 
again  ;  and  as  they  lifted  their  hat>,  she  saw.  or 
thought  she  saw,  that  they  looked  on  her  with  a 

more  tender  interest.     Several  policemen  moved 

about  through  the  crowd,  who.  though  they  -aim- 
ed her  respectfully,  could  not  refrain  from  scruti- 
nising her  appearance  and  watching  her  as  she 
went.  With  that  air  of  haughty  self-possession 
which  well  became  her — for  it  was  no  affectation 
— she  swept  proudly  along,  resolutely  determined 
not  to  utter  a  word,  or  even  risk  a  question  as  to 
the  way. 

Twice  she  turned  to  see  if  her  pony  were  com- 
ing, and  then  resumed  her  road.  From  the  ex- 
cited air  and  rapid  gestures  of  the  police,  as  they 
hurried  from  place  to  place,  she  could  guess  that 
up  to  this  Donogan  had  not  been  captured.  Still, 
it  seemed  hopeless  that  concealment  in  such  a 
place  could  be  accomplished. 

As  she  gained  the  little  stream  that  divided  the 
village,  she  stood  for  a  moment  uncertain,  when 
a  countrywoman,  as  it  were  divining  her  diffi- 
culty, said,  ' '  If  you  will  cross  over  the  bridge, 
my  lady,  the  path  will  bring  you  out  on  the  high- 
road." 

As  Nina  turned  to  thank  her,  the  woman 
looked  up  from  her  task  of  washing  in  the  river, 
and  made  a  gesture  with  her  hand  toward  the 
bog.  Slight  as  the  action  was,  it  appealed  to 
that  Southern  intelligence  that  reads  a  sign  even 
faster  than  a  word.  Nina  sawr  that  the  woman 
meant  to  say  Donogan  had  escaped,  and  once 
more  she  said,  "Thank  you — from  my  heart  I 
thank  you!" 

Just  as  she  emerged  upon  the  high-road,  her 
pony  and  carriage  came  up.  A  sergeant  of  po- 
lice was,  however,  in  waiting  beside  it,  who.  salut- 
ing her  respectfully,  said,  "There  was  no  disre- 
spect meant  to  you,  miss,  by  our  search  of  the 
carriage — our  duty  obliged  us  to  do  it.  We  have 
a  warrant  to  apprehend  the  man  that  was  seen 
with  yon  this  morning,  and  it's  only  that  we  know 
who  you  are,  and  where  you  came  from,  prevents 
us  from  asking  you  to  come  before  our  chief." 

He  presented  his  arm  to  assist  her  to  her  place 
as  he  spoke;  but  she  declined  the  help,  and, 
without  even  noticing  him  in  any  way.  arranged 
her  rugs  and  wraps  around  her,  took  the  reins, 
and  motioning  Larry  to  his  place,  drove  on. 

"  Is  my  drawing  safe?  have  all  my  brushes  and 
pencils  been  put  in  ?"  asked  she,  after  a  while. 

Hut  already  Larry  had  taken  his  leave,  and  she 
could  see  him  as  he  flitted  across  the  bog  to  catch 
her  by  some  short-cut. 

That  strange  contradiction  by  which  a  woman 
can  journey  alone  and  in  safety  through  the 
midst  of  a  country  only  short  of  open  insurrec- 
tion filled  her  mind  as  she  went,  and  thinking 
of  it  in  every  shape  and  fashion  occupied  her  for 

miles  of  the  way.     The  desolation,  far  as  the  eye 

could  reach,  was  complete  —  there  was  not  a 
habitation,  not  a  human  thing,  to  be  seen.  The 
dark  brown  desert  faded  away  in  the  distance 
into  low-lying  clouds,  the  only  break  to  .he  dull 
uniformity  being  some  stray  "clamp,"  as  it  is 
called,  of  turf,  left  by  the  owner-  from  some  acci- 
dent of  season  or  bad  weather,  and  which  loomed 
out  now  against  the  sky  like  a  va-t  fortress. 
This  long,  long  day — for  so  without  any  weari- 


100 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


ness  she  felt  it — was  now  in  the  afternoon,  and  al- 
ready long  shadows  of  these  turf-mounds  stretch- 
ed their  giant  limbs  across  the  waste.  Nina, 
who  had  eaten  nothing  since  at  early  morning, 
felt  faint  and  hungry.  She  halted  her  pony,  and 
taking  out  some  bread  and  a  bottle  of  milk,  pro- 
ceeded to  make  a  frugal  luncheon.  The  com- 
plete loneliness,  the  perfect  silence,  in  which  even 
the  rattling  of  the  harness  as  the  pony  shook 
himself  made  itself  felt,  gave  something  of  so- 
lemnity to  the  moment  as  the  young  girl  sat 
there  and  gazed  half  terrified  around  her. 

As  she  looked,  she  thought  she  saw  something 
pass  from  one  turf-clamp  to  the  other,  and  watch- 
ing closely,  she  could  distinctly  detect  a  figure 
crouching  near  the  ground,  and,  after  some  min- 
utes, emerging  into  the  open  space,  again  to  be 
hid  by  some  vast  turf-mound.  There,  now — 
there  could  not  be  a  doubt — it  was  a  man,  and 
he  was  waving  his  handkerchief  as  a  signal.  It 
was  Donogan  himself — she  could  recognize  him 
well.  Clearing  the  long  drains  at  a  bound,  and 
with  a  speed  that  vouched  for  perfect  training, 
he  came  rapidly  forward,  and  leaping  the  wide 
trench,  alighted  at  last  on  the  road  beside  her. 

"I  have  watched  you  for  an  hour,  and,  but  for 
this  lucky  halt,  I  should  not  have  overtaken  you 
after  all,"  cried  he,  as  he  wiped  his  brow  and 
stood  panting  beside  her. 

"Do  you  know  that  they  are  in  pursuit  of 
you  ?"  cried  she,  hastily. 

"I  know  it  all.  I  learned  it  before  I  reached 
the  village,  and  in  time — only  in  time — to  make 
a  circuit  and  reach  the  bog.  Once  there,  I  defy 
the  best  of  them." 

"  They  have  what  they  call  a  warrant  to  search 
for  you. " 

"I  know  that,  too,"  cried  he.  "  No,  no !"  said 
lie,  passionately,  as  she  offered  him  a  drink. 
"Let  me  have  it  from  the  cup  you  have  drunk 
from.  It  may  be  the  last  favor  I  shall  ever  ask 
you — don't  refuse  me  this." 

She  touched  the  glass  slightly  with  her  lips, 
and  handed  it  to  him  with  a  smile. 

"What  peril  would  I  not  brave  for  this !"  cried 
he,  with  a  wild  ecstasy. 

"Can  you  not  venture  to  return  with  me?" 
said  she,  in  some  confusion,  for  the  bold  gleam  of 
his  gaze  now  half  abashed  her. 

"No.  That  would  be  to  compromise  others 
as  well  as  myself.  I  must  gain  Dublin  how  I 
can.  There  I  shall  be  safe  against  all  pursuit. 
I  have  come  back  for  nothing  but  disappoint- 
ment," added  he,  sorrowfully.  "This  country  is 
not  ready  to  rise — they  are  too  many-minded  for 
a  common  effort.  The  men  like  Wolfe  Tone  are 
not  to  be  found  among  us  now,  and  to  win  free- 
dom you  must  dare  the  felony." 

"Is  it  not  dangerous  to  delay  so  long  here?" 
asked  she,  looking  around  her  with  anxiety. 

"So  it  is — and  I  will  go.  Will  you  keep  this 
for  me  ?"  said  he,  placing  a  thick  and  much-worn 
pocket-book  in  her  hands.  "There  are  papers 
there  would  risk  far  better  heads  than  mine ; 
and  if  I  should  be  taken,  these  must  not  be  dis- 
covered. It  may  be,  Nina — oh,  forgive  me  if  I 
say  your  name !  but  it  is  such  joy  to  me  to  utter 
it  once — it  may  be  that  you  should  chance  to 
hear  some  word  whose  warning  might  save  me. 
If  so,  and  if  you  would  deign  to  write  to  me, 
you'll  find  three,  if  not  four,  addresses,  under  any 
of  which  you  could  safely  write  to  me. " 


"I  shall  not  forget.  Good  fortune  be  with 
you.     Adieu ! " 

She  held  out  her  hand ;  but  he  bent  over  it 
and  kissed  it  rapturously ;  and  when  he  raised 
his  head,  his  eyes  were  streaming,  and  his  cheeks 
deadly  pale.     "  Adieu !"  said  she  again. 

He  tried  to  speak,  but  no  sound  came  from  his 
lips ;  and  when,  after  she  had  driven  some  dis- 
tance away,  she  turned  to  look  after  him,  he  was 
standing  on  the  same  spot  in  the  road,  his  hat  at 
his  feet,  where  it  had  fallen  when  he  stooped  to 
kiss  her  hand. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 


THE    KETCRX. 


Kate  Kearney  was  in  the  act  of  sending  out 
scouts  and  messengers  to  look  out  for  Nina,  whose 
long  absence  had  begun  to  alarm  her,  when  she 
heard  that  she  had  returned  and  was  in  her 
room. 

"  What  a  fright  you  have  given  me,  darling!" 
said  Kate,  as  she  threw  her  arms  about  her  and 
kissed  her  affectionately.  "Do  you  know  how- 
late  you  are  ?" 

"  No ;  I  only  know  how  tired  I  am." 

"What  a  long  day  of  fatigue  you  must  have 
gene  through !     Tell  me  of  it  all." 

"Tell  me  rather  of  yours.  You  have  had  the 
great  Mr.  Walpole  here :  is  it  not  so  ?" 

"Yes ;  he  is  still  here — he  has  graciously  given 
us  another  day,  and  will  not  leave  till  to-morrow 
night. " 

"By  what  good  fortune  have  you  been  so  fa- 
vored as  this  ?" 

"Ostensibly  to  finish  a  long  conversation  or 
conference  with  papa,  but  really  and  truthfully,  I 
suspect,  to  meet  Mademoiselle  Kostalergi,  whose 
absence  has  piqued  him."   - 

"  Yes ;  piqued  is  the  word.  It  is  the  extreme 
of  the  pain  he  is  capable  of  feeling.  What  has 
he  said  of  it?" 

"  Nothing  beyond  the  polite  regrets  that  court- 
esy could  express,  and  then  adverted  to  something 
else. " 

"With  an  abruptness  that  betrayed  prepara- 
tion ?" 

"Perhaps  so." 

"  Not  perhaps,  but  certainly  so.  Vanity  such 
as  his  has  no  variety.  It  repeats  its  moods  over 
and  over :  but  why  do  we  talk  of  him  ?  I  have 
other  things  to  tell  you  of.  You  know  that  man 
who  came  here  with  Dick  ;  that  Mr. — " 

"  I  know — I  know,"  cried  the  other,  hurriedly  ; 
"  what  of  him?" 

"He  joined  me  this  morning,  on  my  way 
through  the  bog,  and  drove  with  me  to  Cruhan." 

"Indeed!"  muttered  Kate,  thoughtfully. 

"A  strange,  wayward,  impulsive  sort  of  creat- 
ure— unlike  anyone — interesting  from  his  strong 
convictions — " 

"Did  he  convert  you  to  any  of  his  opinions, 
Nina  ?" 

"You  mean,  make  a  rebel  of  me.  No;  for 
the  simple  reason  that  I  had  none  to  surrender. 
I  do  not  know  what  is  wrong  here,  nor  what  peo- 
ple would  say  was  right." 

"You  are  aware,  then,  who  he  is?" 

"  Of  course  I  am.  I  was  on  the  terrace  that 
uight  when  your  brother  told  you  he  was  Dono- 


LORD  KIUiOBBIN. 


ini 


pan — the  famous  Fenian  Donogan.     The  secret 
was  not  intended  for  me,  bat  I  kept  it  all  the 

same,  and  1  took  an  interest  in  the  man  from  the 
time  I  heard  it." 

•'Von  told  him,  then,  that  you  knew  who  he 

was?" 

"To  be  sure  I  did.  and  we  are  fast  friends 
already;  hut  let  me  go  on  with  my  narrative. 
Some  excitement,  some  show  of  disturbance  at 
Crnhan,  persuaded  him  that  what  he  called — I 
don't  know  why— the  Crowbar  Brigade  was  at 
work,  and  that  'the  people  were  about  to  he  turned 
adrift  on  the  world  by  the  landlord,  ami  hearing 
a  wild  shout  from  the  village,  he  insisted  on  going 
hack  to  learn  what  it  might  mean,  lie  had  not 
left  me  long  when  your  late  steward.  Gill,  came 
up  with  several  policemen  to  search  for  the  con- 
vict Donogan.  They  had  a  warrant  to  appre- 
hend him.  and  some 'information  as  to  where  he 
had  been  housed  and  sheltered." 

"Here — with  us?" 

"Here — with  you.  Gill  knew  it  all.  This, 
then,  was  the  reason  for  that  excitement  we  bad 
seen  in  the  village — the  people  had  heard  the  po- 
lice were  coming,  but  for  what  they  knew  not ; 
of  course  the  only  thought  was  for  their  own 
trouble. " 

'•  Has  he  escaped  ?     Is  he  safe?" 

"Safe  so  far  that  I  last  saw  him  on  the  wide 
bog,  some  eight  miles  away  from  any  human 
habitation  :  but  where  he  is  to  turn  to,  or  who  is 
to  shelter  him,  I  can  not  say." 

"  He  told  you  there  was  a  price  upon  his  head  ?" 

"Yes,  some  hundred  pounds;  I  forget  how 
much  :  but  he  asked  me  if  I  did  not  feel  tempt- 
ed to  give  him  up  and  earn  the  reward." 

Kate  leaned  her  head  upon  her  hand,  and 
seemed  lost  in  thought. 

"They  will  scarcely  dare  to  come  and  search 
for  him.  here,"  said  she  ;  and,  after  a  pause,  add- 
ed, "  and  yet  I  suspect  that  the  chief  constable, 
Mr.  ( 'urtis,  owes,  or  thinks  he  owes  us  a  grudge ; 
he  might  not  be  sorry  to  pass  this  slight  upon 
papa."  And  she  pondered  for  some  time  over 
the  thonght. 

"Do  you  think  he  can  escape?"  asked  Nina, 
eagerly.  * 

"  Who,  Donogan?" 

"  Of  course — Donogan." 

"  Yes,  I  suspect  he  will ;  these  men  have  pop- 
ular feeling  with  them,  even  among  many  who  do 
not  share  their  opinions.  Have  you  lived  long 
enough  among  us,  Nina,  to  know  that  we  all  hate 
the  law?  In  some  shape  or  other,  it  represents 
to  the  Irish  mind  a  tyranny." 

"  You  are  Greeks,  without  their  acuteness," 
said  Nina, 

"  I'll  not  say  that,"  said  Kate,  hastily.  "  It  is 
true  I  know  nothing  of  your  people,  hut  I  think 
I  could  aver  that  for  a  shrewd  calculation  of  the 
cost  of  a  venture,  for  knowing  when  caution  and 
when  daring  will  best  succeed,  the  Irish  peasant 
has  scarcely  a  superior  any  where. " 

"I  have  heard  much  of  his  caution  this  very 
morning,"  said  Nina,  superciliously. 

"You  might  have  heard  far  more  of  his  reck- 
lessness, if  Donogan  cared  to  tell  of  it,"  Bald 
Kate,  with  irritation.  "  It  is  not  English  squad- 
rons and  batteries  he  is  called  alone  to  face  :  he 
has  to  meet  English  gold,  that  tempts  poverty, 
and  English  corruption,  that  begets  treachery 
and  betrayal.     The"  one  stronghold  of  the  Saxon 


here  is  the  informer;  and  mind,  I.  who  tell  yon 
this,  am  no  rebel.  I  would  rather  live  under 
English  law,  if  English  law  would  not  ignore 
Irish  feeling,  than  I'd  accept  that  llea\en  know- 
what  of  a  government  Keiiianism  could  give  u-.' 

•"I  care  nothing  for  all  this  ;  1  don't  well  know 
if  I  can  follow  it;  hut  I  do  know  that  I'd  like 
this  man  to  escape.  He  gave  me  this  pocket- 
book,  and  told  me  to  keep  it  safely.      It  contains 

some  secrets  that  would  compromise  ] pie  that 

none  suspect,  and  it  has  besides  some  three  or 
four  addresses  to  which  I  could  write  with  safe- 
ty if  I  saw  cause  to  warn  him  of  any  coming 
danger. " 

"And  you  mean  to  do  this  ?" 

"Of  course  I  do ;  I  feel  an  interest  in  this 
man.  I  like  him.  I  like  his  adventurous  spirit, 
I  like  that  ambitions  daring  to  do  or  to  be  some- 
thing beyond  the  herd  around  him.  I  like  that 
readiness  he  shows  to  stake  his  life  on  an  issue. 
His  enthusiasm  inflames  his  whole  nature.  He 
vulgarizes  such  fine  gentlemen  as  Mr.  YValpole, 
and  such  poor  pretenders  as  Joe  Atlee,  and,  in- 
deed, your  brother,  Kate." 

"  I  will  suffer  no  detraction  of  Dick  Kearney," 
said  Kate,  resolutely. 

"Give  me  a  cup  of  tea,  then,  and  I  shall  he 
more  mannerly-,  for  I  am  quite  exhausted,  and  1 
am  afraid  my  temper  is  not  proof  against  starva- 
tion." 

"But  you  will  come  down  to  the  drawing- 
room;  they  are  all  so  eager  to  see  you,"  said 
Kate,  caressingly. 

"No ;  I'll  have  my  tea  and  go  to  bed,  and  I'll 
dream  that  Mr.  Donogan  has  been  made  King 
of  Ireland,  and  made  an  offer  to  share  the  throne 
with  me." 

"Your  Majesty's  tea  shall  be  served  at  once," 
said  Kate,  as  she  courtesied  deeply  and  withdrew. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 


<)  SHEA  s   I!.\i:n. 


There  were  many  more  pretentious  houses 
than  "O'Shea's  Barn."  It  would  have  been 
easy  enough  to  discover  larger  rooms  and  finer 
furniture,  more  numerous  servants  and  more  of 
display  in  all  the  details  of  life  ;  hut  for  an  air 
of  quiet  comfort,  for  the  certainty  of  meeting 
with  every  material  enjoyment  that  people  of 
moderate  fortune  aspire  to,  it  stood  unrivaled. 

The  rooms  were  airy  and  cheerful,  with  flow- 
ers in  summer,  as  they  were  well  heated  and  well 
lighted  in  winter.  The  most  massive-looking 
hut  luxurious  old  arm-chairs,  that  modern  taste 
would  have  repudiated  for  ugliness,  abounded 
every  where;  and  the  four  cumbrous  hut  coin 
Portable  seats  that  stood  around  the  circular  din- 
ner table— and  it  was  a  matter  of  principle  wilh 
Miss  Betty  that  the  company  should  never  he 
nioii'  numerous — only  needed  speech  to  have 
told  of  traditions  of  conviviality  for  very  nigh  two 
centuries  hack. 

As  for  a  dinner  at  "the  Barn,"  the  whole  coun- 
ty-side confessed  that  they  never  knew  how  it 
was  that  Miss  Betty's  salmon  was  "  curdier,"  and 
her  mountain  mutton  more  tender,  and  her  wood- 
cocks racier  and  of  higher  flavor,  than  any  one 
else's.  Her  brown  sherry  you  might  have  equaled 
— she  liked  the  color  and  the  heavy  taste— but  I 


102 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


defy  you  to  match  that  marvelous  port  which 
came  in  with  the  cheese,  and  as  little,  in  these 
days  of  light  Bordeaux,  that  stout-hearted  Sneyd's 
claret,  in  its  ancient  decanter,  whose  delicately 
fine  neck  seemed  fashioned  to  retain  the  bouquet. 

The  most  exquisite  compliment  that  a  courtier 
ever  uttered  could  not  have  given  Miss  Betty  the 
same  pleasure  as  to  hear  one  of  her  guests  re- 
quest a  second  slice  of  "  the  haunch."  This  was, 
indeed,  a  flattery  that  appealed  to  her  finest  sen- 
sibilities ;  and,  as  she  herself  caned,  she  knew 
how  to  reward  that  appreciative  man  with  fat. 

Never  was  the  virtue  of  hospitality  more  self- 
rewarding  than  in  her  case ;  and  the  discrimi- 
nating individual  who  ate  with  gusto,  and  who 
never  associated  the  wrong  condiment  with  his 
food,  found  favor  in  her  eyes,  and  was  sure  of  re- 
invitation. 

Fortune  had  rewarded  her  with  one  man  of 
correct  taste  and  exquisite  palate  as  a  diner-out. 
This  was  the  parish  priest,  the  Rev.  Luke  De- 
lany,  who  had  been  educated  abroad,  and  whose 
natural  gifts  had  been  improved  by  French  and 
Italian  experiences.  He  was  a  small,  little,  meek 
man,  with  closely  cut  black  hair  and  eyes  of  the 
darkest ,  scrupulously  neat  in  dress,  and,  by  his 
ruffles  and  buckled  shoes  at  dinner,  affecting 
something  of  the  abbe'  in  his  appearance.  To 
such  as  associated  the  Catholic  priest  with  coarse 
manners,  vulgar  expressions,  or  violent  senti- 
ments, Father  Luke,  with  his  low  voice,  his  well- 
chosen  words,  and  his  universal  moderation,  was 
a  standing  rebuke ;  and  many  an  English  tourist 
who  met  him  came  away  with  the  impression  of 
the  gross  calumny  that  associated  this  man's  or- 
der with  under-bred  habits  and  disloyal  am- 
bitions. He  spoke  little,  but  he  was  an  admi- 
rable listener,  and  there  was  a  sweet  encourage- 
ment in  the  bland  nod  of  his  head,  and  a  rare 
appreciation  in  the  bright  twinkle  of  his  humor- 
ous eye,  that  the  prosiest  talker  found  irresist- 
ible. 

There  were  times,  indeed — stirring  intervals 
of  political  excitement— when  Miss  Betty  would 
have  liked  more  hai-dihood  and  daring  in  her 
ghostly  counselor;  but  Heaven  help  the  man 
who  would  have  ventured  on  the  open  avowal  of 
such  opinion,  or  uttered  a  word  in  disparagement 
of  Father  Luke. 

It  was  in  that  snug  dinner-room  I  have  glanced 
at  that  a  party  of  four  sat  over  their  wine.  They 
had  dined  admirably ;  a  bright  wood  fire  blazed 
on  the  hearth,  and  the  scene  was  the  emblem  of 
comfort  and  quiet  conviviality.  Opposite  Miss 
O'Shea  sat  Father  Delany,  and  on  either  side  of 
her  her  nephew  Gorman  and  Mr.  Ralph  Miller, 
in  whose  honor  the  present  dinner  was  given. 

The  Romish  bishop  of  the  diocese  had  vouch- 
safed a  guarded  and  cautious  approval  of  Mr. 
Miller's  views,  and  secretly  instructed  Father 
Delany  to  learn  as  much  more  as  he  convenient- 
ly could  of  the  learned  gentleman's  intentions 
before  committing  himself  to  a  pledge  of  hearty 
support. 

"I  will  give  him  a  good  dinner,"  said  Miss 
O'Shea,  "  and  some  of  the  '4.">  claret ;  and  if  you 
can  not  get  his  sentiments  out  of  him  after  that, 
I  wash  my  hands  of  him." 

Father  Delany  accepted  his  share  of  the  task, 
and  assuredly  Miss  Betty  did  not  fail  on  her 
part. 

The  conversation  had  turned  principally  on 


the  coming  election,  and  Mr.  Miller  gave  a  flour- 
ishing account  of  his  success  as  a  canvasser,  and 
even  went  the  length  of  doubting  if  any  opposi- 
tion would  be  offered  to  him. 

"Ain't  you  and  young  Kearney  going  on  the 
same  ticket  ?"  asked  Gorman,  who  was  too  new 
to  Ireland  to  understand  the  nice  distinctions  of 
party. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Miller,  "we  differ  essen- 
tially. We  want  a  government  in  Ireland — the 
Nationalists  want  none.  We  desire  order  by 
means  of  timely  concession  and  judicious  boons 
to  the  people.  They  want  disorder — the  display 
of  gross  injustice — content  to  wait  for  a  scram- 
ble, and  see  what-can  come  of  it." 

"Mr.  Miller's  friends,  besides,"  interposed 
Father  Luke,  "would  defend  the  Church  and 
protect  the  Holy  Father" — and  this  was  said 
with  a  half  interrogation. 

Miller  coughed  twice,  and  said,  "Unquestion- 
ably. We  have  shown  our  hand  already — look 
what  we  have  done  with  the  Established  Church. " 

"You  need  not  be  proud  of  it,"  cried  Miss 
Betty.  ' '  If  you  wanted  to  get  rid  of  the  crows, 
why  didn't  you  pull  down  the  rookery  ?" 

' '  At  least  they  don't  caw  so  loud  as  they 
used,"  said  the  priest,  smiling;  and  Miller  ex- 
changed delighted  glances  with  him  for  his  opin- 
ion. 

' '  I  want  to  be  rid  of  them,  root  and  branch, " 
said  Miss  Betty. 

"If  you  will  vouchsafe  us,  ma'am,  a  little  pa- 
tience. Rome  was  not  built  in  a  day.  The  next 
victory  of  our  Church  must  be  won  by  the  down- 
fall of  the  English  establishment.  Ain't  I  right, 
Father  Luke?" 

"I  am  not  quite  clear  about  that,"  said  the 
priest,  cautiously.  "Equality  is  not  the  safe 
road  to  supremacy." 

"What  was  that  row  over  towai'd  Croghan 
Castle  this  morning  ?"  asked  Gorman,  who  was 
getting  wearied  with  a  discussion  he  could  not 
follow.  "  I  saw  the  constabulary  going  in  force 
there  this  afternoon." 

' '  They  were  in  pursuit  of  the  celebrated  Dan 
Donogau,"  said  Father  Luke.  "They  say  he 
was  seen  at  Moate." 

"They  say  more  than  that,"  said  Miss  Betty. 
' '  They  say  that  he  is  stopping  at  Kilgobbin  Cas- 
tle !" 

"I  suppose  to  conduct  young  Kearney's  elec- 
tion," said  Miller,  laughing. 

' '  And  why  should  they  hunt  him  down  ?" 
asked  Gorman.      "  What  has  he  done  ?" 

"  He's  a  Fenian — a  head-centre — a  man  who 
wants  to  revolutionize  Ireland,"  replied  Miller. 

"And  destroy  the  Church,"  chimed  in  the 
priest. 

"Humph!"  muttered  Gorman,  who  seemed 
to  imply,  Is  this  all  you  can  lay  to  his  charge  ? 
"Has  he  escaped?"  asked  he,  suddenly. 

"Up  to  this  he  has,"  said  Miller.  "I  was 
talking  to  the  constabulary  chief  this  afternoon, 
and  he  told  me  that  the  fellow  is  sure  to  be 
apprehended.  He  has  taken  to  the  open  bog, 
and  there  are  eighteen  in  full  cry  after  him. 
There  is  a  search-warrant  too  arrived,  and  they 
mean  to  look  him  up  at  Kilgobbin  Castle." 

"To  search  Kilgobbin  Castle,  do  you  mean?" 
asked  Gorman. 

"  Just  so.  It  will  be,  as  I  perceive  you  think 
it,  a  great  offense  to  Mr.  Kearney,  and  it  is  not 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


impossible  that  his  temper  may  provoke  him  to 
resist  it." 

"The  mere  rumor  may  materially  assist  his 
<on's  election; "said  the  priest,  slyly. 

"Only  with  the  party  who  have  no  votes.  Fa- 
ther Luke, "  rejoined  Miller.  "That  precarious 
popularity  of  the  mob  is  about  the  most  danger- 
ous enemy  a  man  ean  have  in  Ireland.'' 

••  You  are  right.  Sir,"  said  the  priest,  blandly. 
"The  real  favor  of  this  people  is  only  bestowed 
on  him  who  has  gained  the  confidence  of  the 
clergy." 

■•  If  that  be  true,"  cried  Gorman,  "upon  my 
oath  I  think  you  are  worse  off  here  than  in  Aus- 
tria. There,  at  least,  we  are  beginning  to  think 
without  the  permission  of  the  Church." 

"Let  us  have  none  of  your  atheism  here, 
young  man,"  broke  in  his  aunt,  angrily.  "  Such 
sentiments  have  never  been  heard  in  this  room 
before." 

"  If  I  apprehend  Lieutenant  Gorman  aright," 
interposed  Father  Luke,  "he  only  refers  to  the 
late  movement  of  the  Austrian  Empire  with  ref- 
erence to  the  Concordat,  on  which,  among  re- 
ligious men,  there  are  two  opinions." 

"No,  no,  you  mistake  me  altogether,"  re- 
joined Gorman.  "What  I  meant  was,  that  a 
man  can  read  and  talk  and  think  in  Austria 
without  the  leave  of  the  priest ;  that  he  can  mar- 
ry, and,  if  he  like,  he  can  die  without  his  assist- 
ance." 

"  Gorman,  you  are  a  beast,"  said  the  old  lady, 
"and  if  you  lived  here  you  would  be  a  Fenian." 

"You're  wrong  too,  aunt,"  replied  he.  "I'd 
crush  those  fellows  to-morrow  if  I  was  in  power 
here." 

"  Mayhap  the  game  is  not  so  easy  as  you  deem 
it,"  interposed  Miller. 

"Certainly  it  is  not  easy  when  played  as  you 
do  it  here.  You  deal  with  your  law-breakers 
only  by  the  rule  of  legality :  that  is  to  say,  you 
respect  all  the  regulations  of  the  game  toward 
the  men  who  play  false.  Yrou  have  your  cum- 
brous details,  and  your  lawyers,  and  judges,  and 
juries,  and  you  can  not  even  proclaim  a  county 
in  a  state  of  siege  without  a  bill  in  your  blessed 
Parliament,  and  a  basketful  of  balderdash  about 
the  liberty  of  the  subject.  Is  it  any  wonder  re- 
bellion is  a  regular  trade  with  you,  and  that  men 
who  don't  like  work,  or  business  habits,  take  to 
it  as  a  livelihood?" 

"But  have  you  never  heard  Curran's  saying, 
young  gentleman  ?  '  You  can  not  bring  an  in- 
dictment against  a  nation,'  "  said  Miller. 

"I'd  trouble  myself  little  with  indictments," 
replied  Gorman.  "I'd  break  down  the  confed- 
eracy by  spies ;  I'd  seize  the  fellows  I  knew  to  be 
guilty  and  hang  them." 

"  Without  evidence,  without  trial?" 

"Very  little  of  a  trial,  when  I  had  once  sat- 
isfied myself  of  the  guilt." 

"  Are  you  so  certain  that  no  innocent  men 
might  be  brought  to  the  scaffold?"  asked  the 
priest,  mildly. 

•"  No,  I  am  not.  I  take  it,  as  the  world  goes, 
very  few  of  us  go  through  life  without  some  in- 
justice or  another.  I'd  do  my  best  not  to  hang 
the  fellows  who  didn't  deserve  it,  but  I  own  I'd 
be  much  more  concerned  about  the  millions  who 
wanted  to  live  peaceably  than  the  few  hundred 
rapscallions  that  were  bent  on  troubling  them." 

"I   must  say,  Sir,"  said  the  priest,  "I   am 


much  more  gratified  to  know  that  you  are  a 
lieutenant  of  lancers  in  Austria  than  a  British 
minister  in  Downing  Street." 

••  1  have  little  doubt  my  self,"  said  the  other, 
laughing,  "that  I  am  more  in  my  place;  but  of 
this  1  am  sure,  that  if  we  were  as  mealy-mouthed 
with  our  Croats  and  Slovaeks  as  you  are  with 
your  Fenians,  Austria  would  soon  go  to  pieces." 

"There  is,  however,  a  higher  price  on  that 
man  Donogan's  head  than  Austria  ever  offered 
for  a  traitor,"  said  Miller. 

"I  know  how  you  esteem  money  here,"  said 
Gorman,  laughing.  "  When  all  eise  fails  you, 
you  fall  back  upon  it." 

••  Why  did  I  know  nothing  of  these  senti- 
ments, young  man,  before  I  asked  you  under  my 
roof?"  said  Miss  Betty,  in  anger. 

"Y'ou  need  never  to  have  known  them  now, 
aunt,  if  these  gentlemen  had  not  provoked  me ; 
nor,  indeed,  are  they  solely  mine.  I  am  only 
telling  you  what  you  would  hear  from  any  intel- 
ligent foreigner,  even  though  he  chanced  to  be 
a  liberal  in  his  own  country." 

'•Ah,  yes,"  sighed  the  priest;  "what  the 
young  gentleman  says  is  too  true.  The  Conti- 
nent is  alarmingly  infected  with  such  opinions  as 
these." 

"Have  you  talked  on  politics  with  young 
Kearney  ?"  asked  Miller. 

"He  has  had  no  opportunity,"  interposed 
Miss  O'Shea.  "  My  nephew  will  be  three  weeks 
here  on  Thursday  next,  and  neither  Maurice  nor 
his  son  has  called  on  him." 

"Scarcely  neighbor -like  that,  I  must  say," 
cried  Miller. 

"I  suspect  the  fault  lies  on  my  side,"  said 
Gorman,  boldly.  "  When  I  was  little  more  than 
a  boy  I  was  never  out  of  that  house.  The  old 
man  treated  me  like  a  son.  All  the  more,  per- 
haps, as  his  own  son  was  seldom  at  home,  and 
the  little  girl  Kitty  certainly  regarded  me  as  a 
brother;  and  though  we  had  our  fights  and 
squabbles,  we  cried  very  bitterly  at  parting,  and 
each  of  us  vowed  we  should  never  like  any  one 
so  much  again.  And  now,  after  all,  here  am  1 
three  weeks,  within  two  hours'  ride  of  them,  and 
my  aunt  insists  that  my  dignity  requires  1  should 
be  first  called  on.  Confound  such  dignity,  say 
I,  if  it  lose  me  the  best  and  the  pleasantes't 
friends  I  ever  had  in  my  life!" 

"I  scarcely  thought  of  your  dignity,  Gorman 
O'Shea,"  said  the  old  lady,  bridling,  "though  1 
did  bestow  some  consideration  on  my  own." 

"I'm  very  sorry  for  it,  aunt ;  and  I  tell  you 
fairly — and  there's  no  impoliteness  in  the  confes- 
sion— that  when  I  asked  for  my  leave,  Kilgobbin 
Castle  had  its  place  in  my  thoughts  as  well  as 
o'shea's  Barn. 

"  Why  not  say  it  out,  young  gentleman,  and 
tell  me  that  the  real  charm  of  coming  here  was  to 
In'  within  twelve  miles  of  the  Kearneys  ?" 

"The  merits  of  this  house  are  very  inde- 
pendent of  contiguity,"  said  the  priest  :  and  as 
he  eyed  the  claret  in  his  glass  it  was  plain  that 
tin-  sentiment  was  an  honest  one. 

"  Fifty-six  wine,  I  should  say,"  said  Miller,  as 
he  laid  down  his  glass. 

"Forty-live,  if  Mr.  Barton  he  a  man  of  his 
word,"  said  the  old  lady,  reprovingly. 

"Ah,"  sighed  the  priest,  plaintively,  "how 
rarely  one  meets  these  old  full-bodied  clarets 
nowadays  !     The  free  admission  of  French  wines 


104 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


has  corrupted  taste  and  impaired  palate.  Our 
cheap  Gladstones  have  come  upon  us  like  univer- 
sal suffrage." 

"The  masses,  however,  benefit,"  remarked 
Miller. 

"  Only  in  the  first  moment  of  acquisition,  and 
in  the  novelty  of  the  gain,"  continued  Father 
Luke,  "  and  then  they  suffer  irreparably  in  the 
loss  of  that  old  guidance,  which  once  directed 
appreciation  when  there  was  something  to  ap- 
preciate." 

"We  want  the  priest  again,  in  fact,"  broke  in 
Gorman. 

"You  must  admit  they  understand  wine  to 
jxjrfection,  though  I  would  humbly  hope,  young 
gentleman,"  said  the  father,  modestly,  "to  en- 
gage your  good  opinion  of  them  on  higher 
grounds." 

"  Give  yourself  no  trouble  in  the  matter.  Fa- 
ther Luke,"  broke  in  Miss  Betty.  "Gorman's 
Austrian  lessons  have  placed  him  beyond  your 
teaching. " 

"My  dear  aunt,  you  are  giving  the  imperial 
government  a  credit  it  never  deserved.  They 
taught  me  as  a  cadet  to  groom  my  horse  and 
pipe-clay  my  uniform,  to  be  respectful  to  my  cor- 
poral, and  to  keep  my  thumb  on  the  seam  of  my 
trowsers  when  the  captain's  eye  was  on  me  ;  but 
as  to  what  passed  inside  my  mind,  if  I  had  a 
mind  at  all,  or  what  I  thought  of  pope,  kaiser, 
or  cardinal,  they  no  more  cared  to  know  it  than 
the  name  of  my  sweetheart." 

"What  a  blessing  to  that  benighted  country 
would  be  one  liberal  statesman !"  exclaimed  Mil- 
ler; "one  man  of  the  mind  and  capacity  of  our 
present  premier ! " 

"Heaven  forbid!"  cried  Gorman.  "We 
have  confusion  enough,  without  the  reflection  of 
being  governed  by  what  you  call  here  'healing 
measures.' " 

"  I  should  like  to  discuss  that  point  with  you," 
said  Miller. 

"Not  now,  I  beg,"  interposed  Miss  O'Shea. 
"Gorman,  will  you  decant  another  bottle?" 

"I  believe  I  ought  to  protest  against  more 
wine,"  said  the  priest,  in  his  most  insinuating 
voice;  "but there  are  occasions  where  the  yield- 
ing to  temptation  conveys  a  moral  lesson." 

"  I  suspect  that  I  cultivate  my  nature  a  good 
deal  in  that  fashion,"  said  Gorman,  as  he  opened 
a  fresh  bottle. 

"This  is  perfectly  delicious,"  said  Miller,  as  he 
sipped  his  glass ;   "  and  if  I  could  venture  to  pre- 
sume so  far  I  would  ask  leave  to  propose  a  toast. " 
"You  have  my  permission,  Sir,"  said  Miss 
Betty,  with  stateliness. 

"  I  drink,  then,"  said  he,  reverently — "  I  drink 
to  the  long  life,  the  good  health,  and  the  un- 
broken courage  of  the  Holy  Father." 

There  was  something  peculiarly  sly  in  the 
twinkle  of  the  priest's  black  eye  as  he  filled  his 
bumper,  and  a  twitching  motion  of  the  corner  of 
his  mouth  continued  even  as  he  said,  "To  the 
Pope. " 

"The  Pope,"  cried  Gorman,  as  he  eyed  his 
wine — 

"  '  Der  Papst  lebt  herrlich  in  der  Welt.' " 

"What  are  you  muttering  there?"  asked  his 
aunt,  fiercely. 

"The  line  of  an  old  song,  aunt,  that  tells  us 
•how  his  Holiness  has  a  jolly  time  of  it." 


"  I  fear  me  it  must  have  been  written  in  other 
days,"  said  Father  Luke. 

"There  is  no  intention  to  desert  or  abandon 
him,  I  assure  you,"  said  Miller,  addressing  him 
in  a  low  but  eager  tone.  ' '  I  could  never — no 
Irishman  could  ally  himself  to  an  administra- 
tion which  should  sacrifice  the  Holy  See.  With 
the  bigotry  that  prevails  in  England,  the  ques- 
tion requires  most  delicate  handling ;  and  even 
a  pledge  can  not  be  given  except  in  language  so 
vague  and  unprecise  as  to  admit  of  many  read- 
ings." 

' '  Why  not  bring  in  a  bill  to  give  him  a  sub- 
sidy, a  something  per  annum,  or  a  round  sum 
down?"  cried  Gorman. 

"Mr.  Miller  has  just  shown  ns  that  Exeter 
Hall  might  become  dangerous.  English  intoler- 
ance is  not  a  thing  to  be  rashly  aroused." 

"  If  I  had  to  deal  with  him,  I'd  do  as  Bright 
proposed  with  your  landlords  here.  I'd  buy  him 
out,  give  him  a  handsome  sum  for  his  interest, 
and  let  him  go." 

"And  how  would  you  deal  with  the  Church, 
Sir?"  asked  the  priest. 

"I  have  not  thought  of  that;  but,  I  suppose, 
one  might  put  it  into  commission,  as  they  say, 
or  manage  it  by  a  board,  with  a  first  lord,  like 
the  Admiralty." 

"I  will  give  you  some  tea,  gentlemen,  when 
you  appear  in  the  drawing-room,"  said  Miss 
Betty,  rising  with  dignity,  as  though  her  conde- 
scension in  sitting  so  long  with  the  party  had 
been  ill  rewarded  by  her  nephew's  sentiments. 

The  priest,  however,  offered  his  arm,  and  the 
others  followed  as  he  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 


AN   EARLY    GALLOP. 


Maurice  Kearney  had  risen  early,  an  unu- 
sual thing  with  him  of  late ;  but  he  had  some 
intention  of  showing  his  guest  Mr.  Walpole  over 
the  farm  after  breakfast,  and  was  anxious  to 
give  some  preliminary  orders  to  have  every  thing 
"ship-shape"  for  the  inspection. 

To  make  a  very  disorderly  and  much  neglect- 
ed Irish  farm  assume  an  air  of  discipline,  regu- 
larity, and  neatness  at  a  moment's  notice  was 
pretty  much  sucli  an  exploit  as  it  would  have 
been  to  muster  an  Indian  tribe,  and  pass  them 
before  some  Prussian  martinet  as  a  regiment  of 
Guards. 

To  make  the  ill-fenced  and  misshapen  fields 
seem  trim  paddocks,  wavering  and  serpentining 
furrows  appear  straight  and  regular  lines  of  till- 
age, weed-grown  fields  look  marvels  of  cleanli- 
ness and  care,  while  the  lounging  and  ragged 
population  were  to  be  passed  oft'  as  a  thriving 
and  industrious  peasantry,  well  paid  and  content- 
ed, were  difficulties  that  Mr.  Kearney  did  not 
propose  to  confront.  Indeed,  to  do  him  justice, 
he  thought  there  was  a  good  deal  of  pedantic 
and  "model-farming  humbug"  about  all  that 
English  passion  for  neatness  he  had  read  of  in 
public  journals  ;  and  as  our  fathers — better  gen- 
tlemen, as  he  called  them,  and  more  hospitable 
fellows  than  any  of  us — had  got  on  without  steam 
mowing  and  threshing,  and  bone-crushing,  he 
thought  we  might  farm  our  properties  without 
being  either  blacksmiths  or  stokers. 


LORD  K1LGOBBIN. 


105 


J  ^f-^Tp' 


■%^k?'^A 


"  God  help  us  !"  he  would  say.  "I  suppose 
we'll  be  chewing  our  food  by  steum  one  of  these 
days,  and  tilling  our  stomachs  by  hydraulic  press- 
ure. But  for  my  own  part,  I  like  something  to 
work  for  me  that  I  can  swear  at  when  it  goes 
wrong.  There's  little  use  in  cursing  a  cylinder." 
To  have  heard  him  among  his  laborers  that 
morning  it  was  plain  to  see  that  they  were  not 
in  the  category  of  machinery.  On  one  pretext 
or  another,  however,  they  had  slunk  away  one 
by  one,  so  that  at  last  he  found  himself  storming 
alone  in  a  stubble-field,  with  no  other  companion 
than  one  of  Kate's  terriers.  The  sharp  barking 
of  this  dog  aroused  him  in  the  midst  of  his  im- 
precations, and  looking  over  the  dry-stone  wall 
that  inclosed  the  field,  he  saw  a  horseman  com- 
ing along  at  a  sharp  canter,  and  taking  the  fences 
as  they  came,  like  a  man  in  a  hunting-field.  lie 
rode  well,  and  was  mounted  upon  a  strong  wiry 
hackney — a  cross-bred  horse,  and  of  little  mon- 
eyed  value,  but  one  of  those  active  cats  of 
horseflesh  that  a  knowing  hand  can  appreciate. 
Now,  little  as  Kearney  liked  the  liberty  of  a  man 
riding  over  his  ditches  and  his  turnips  when  out 
of  hunting  season,  his  old  love  of  good  horse- 
manship made  him  watch  the  rider  with  interest 
and  even  pleasure.  ".May  I  never  \"  muttered 
he  to  himself,  "if  he"s  not  coining  at  this  wall." 
And  as  the  inclosnre  in  question  was  built  of 
large  jagged  stones,  without  mortar,  and  fully 
tour  feet  iii  height,  the  upper  course  being  form- 
ed of  a  sort  of  coping  in  which  the  stones  BtOC-d 
edgewise,  the  attempt  did  look  somewhat  rash. 
Not  taking  the  wall  where  it  was  slightly  breach- 
ed, and  where  some  loose  stones  had  fallen,  the 
rider  rode  boldly  at  one  of  the  highest  portions, 
but  where  the  ground  was  good  on  either  side. 

••  He  knows  what  lie's  ;it  1"  muttered  Kearney, 
as  his  horse  came  bounding  over  and  alighted  in 
perfect  safety  in  the  field. 

••Well  done!  whoever  you  are,"  cried  Kear- 
ney, delighted,  as  the  rider  removed  his  hat  and 
turned  round  to  salute  him. 


'•  Ami  don't  you  know  me,  Sir?"  asked  he. 
"Faith     1     do    not,"  replied     Kearney;    "but 

somehow  I  think  I  know  the  chestnut.  'I'm  be 
sure  I  do.  There's  the  old  mark  on  her  knee, 
how  ever  she  found  the  man  who  eoidd  throw 
her  down,     isn't  she  Miss  O'Shea's  Kattoo?" 

"'That  she  is,  Sir,  and  I'm  her  nephew." 

"  Ave  your'    said  Kearney,  dryly. 

The  young  fellow  was  so  terribly  pulled  up  by 
the  unexpected  repulse  — more  marked  even  by 
the  look  than  the  words  of  the  other,  thai  lie  Bat 
unable  to  utter  a  syllable.  "  1  had  hoped,  Sir, " 
said  he  at  last,  "that  I  had  not  outgrown  your 
recollection,  as  I  can  promise  none  of  your  for- 
mer kindness  to  me  has  outgrown  mine." 

"  lint  it  took  you  three  weeks  to  recall  it,  all 
the  same,"  said  Kearney. 

"  It  is  true,  Sir,  I  am  very  nearly  so  long  here ; 
but  my  aunt,  whose  guest  I  am,  told  me  I  must 
be  called  on  first ;  that — I'm  sure  I  can't  sa\  for 
whose  benefit  it  was  supposed  to  be — I  should 
not  make  the  first  visit  :  in  fact,  there  w  as 
some  rule  about  the  matter,  and  that  I  must  not 
contravene  it.  And  although  I  yielded  with  a 
very  bad  grace,  I  was  in  a  measure  under  orders, 
and  dared  not  resist." 

"  She  told  you,  of  course,  that  we  were  not  on 
our  old  terms ;  that  there  was  a  coldness  be- 
tween the  families,  and  we  had  seen  nothing  of 
each  other  lately?" 

"Not  a  word  of  it,  Sir." 

' '  Nor  of  any  reason  why  you  should  not  come 
here  as  of  old  ?" 

"None,  on  my  honor;  beyond  this  piece  of 
stupid  etiquette,  I  never  heard  of  any  thing  like 
a  reason." 

"I  am  all  the  better  pleased  with  my  old 
neighbor,"  said  Kearney,  in  his  more  genial  tone. 
"  Not,  indeed,  that  I  ought  ever  to  have  distrust- 
ed her,  but  for  all  that —  Well,  never  mind," 
muttered  he,  as  though  debating  the  question 
with  himself,  and  unable  to  decide  it,  "you  are 
here  now — eh  !     You  are  here  now." 

"You  almost  make  me  suspect,  Sir,  that  I 
ought  not  to  be  here  now." 

"At  all  events,  if  you  were  waiting  for  me  you 
wouldn't  be  here,  is  not  that  true,  young  gen- 
tleman ?" 

"Quite  true,  Sir,  but  not  impossible  to  ex- 
I  plain."  And  he  now  flung  himself  to  the 
!  ground,  and,  with  the  rein  over  his  arm,  came 
up  to  Kearney's  side.  "  I  suppose,  but  for  an 
!  accident,  I  should  have  gone  on  waiting  for  that 
visit  you  had  no  intention  to  make  me,  and  can- 
vassing with  myself  how  long  you  were  taking  to 
make  up  your  mind  to  call  on  me,  when  I  heard 
only  last  night  that  some  noted  rebel — I'll  re- 
member his  name  in  a  minute  or  two — was  seen 
in  the  neighborhood,  and  that  the  police  were  on 
his  track  with  a  warrant,  and  even  intended  to 
search  for  him  here." 

"  In  my  house — in  Kilgobbin  Castle?" 

"Yes,  here  in  your  house,  where,  from  a  sure 
information,  he  had  been  harbored  tor  smiie 
days.  This  fellow — a  head-centre  or  leader, 
with  a  largo  sum  on  his  head — has,  they  say, 

got  away  ;   but  the  hope  of  finding  s paperB, 

some  clew  to  him  here,  will  certainly  lead  them 
in  search  the  <  'astle,  and  I  thought  I'd  come  over 
ami  apprise  you  of  it  at  all  events,  lest  the  sur- 
prise  shook]  prove  ton  mach  for  your  temper." 

"Do  they  forget  I'm  in  the  commission  of  the 


106 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


peace  ?"  said  Kearney,  in  a  voice  trembling  with 
passion. 

' '  You  know  far  better  than  me  how  far  party 
spirit  tempers  life  in  this  country,  and  are  better 
able  to  say  whether  some  private  intention  to  in- 
sult is  couched  under  this  attempt." 

"That's  true," cried  the  old  man,  ever  ready 
to  regard  himself  as  the  object  of  some  secret 
malevolence.  "You  can  not  remember  this 
rebel's  name,  can  you  ?" 

"  It  was  Daniel  something — that's  all  I  know." 

A  long,  fine  whistle  was  Kearney"s  rejoinder, 
and  after  a  second  or  two  he  said :  "  I  can  trust 
you,  Gorman ;  and  I  may  tell  you  they  may 
be  not  so  great  fools  as  I  took  them  for.  Not 
that  I  was  harboring  the  fellow,  mind  you ;  but 
there  came  a  college  friend  of  Dick's  here  a  few 
days  back — a  clever  fellow  he  was,  and  knew 
Ireland  well— and  we  called  him  Mr.  Daniel, 
and  it  was  but  yesterday  he  left  us  and  did  not 
return.  I  have  a  notion  now  he  was  the  head- 
centre  they're  looking  for." 

"Do  you  know  if  he  has  left  any  baggage  or 
papers  behind  him  ?" 

"  I  know  nothing  about  this  whatever,  nor  do 
I  know  how  far  Dick  was  in  his  secret. " 

"  You  will  be  cool  and  collected,  I  am  sure, 
Sir,  when  they  come  here  with  the  search-war- 
rant. You'irnot  give  them  even  the  passing 
triumph  of  seeing  that  you  are  annoyed  or  of- 
fended ?" 

"  That  I  will,  my  lad.  I'm  prepared  now,  and 
I'll  take  them  as  easy  as  if  it  was  a  morning  call. 
Come  in  and  have  your  breakfast  with  us,  and 
say  nothing  about  what  we've  been  talking  over. " 

""  Many  thanks,  Sir,  but  1  think — indeed,  I  feel 
sure — I  ought  to  go  back  at  once.  I  have  come 
here  without  my  aunt's  knowledge ;  and  now  that 
I  have  seen  you  and  put  you  on  your  guard,  I 
ought  to  get  back  as  fast  as  I  can." 

"So  you  shall  when  you  feed  your  beast  and 
take  something  yourself.  Poor  old  Kattoo  isn't 
used  to  this  sort  of  cross-country  work,  and 
she's  panting  there  badly  enough.  That  mare  is 
twenty-one  years  of  age. " 

"She's  fresh  on  her  legs — not  a  curb  nor  a 
spavin,  nor  even  a  wind-gall  about  her,"  said  the 
young  man. 

"And  the  reward  for  it  all  is  to  be  ridden 
like  a  steeple- chaser !"  sighed  old  Kearney. 
"  Isn't  that  the  world  over  ?  Break  down  early, 
and  you  are  a  good-for-nothing.  Cany  on  your 
spirit  and  your  pluck  and  your  endurance  to  a 
green  old  age,  and  maybe  they  won't  take  it  out 
of  you ! — always  contrasting  you,  however,  with 
vourself  long  ago,  and  telling  the  by-standers  what 
a  rare  beast  you  were  in  your  good  days.  Do 
you  think  they  had  dared  to  pass  this  insult  upon 
'me  when  I  was  five-and-twenty  or  thirty?  Do 
you  think  there's  a  man  in  the  county  would 
have  come  on  this  errand  to  search  Kilgobbin 
when  I  was  a  young  man,  Mr.  O'Shea  ?" 

"I  think  you  can  afford  to  treat  it  with  the 
contempt  you  have  determined  to  show  it." 

"That's  all  very  fine  now,"  said  Kearney; 
"but  there  was  a  time  I'd  rather  have  chucked 
the  chief  constable  out  of  the  window  and  sent 
the  sergeant  after  him." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  that  would  have  been 
better,"  said  Gorman,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"Neither  do  I;  but  I  know  that  I  myself 
would  have  felt  better  and  easier  in  my  mind 


after  it.  I'd  have  eaten  my  breakfast  with  a 
good  appetite,  and  gone  about  my  day's  work, 
whatever  it  was,  with  a  free  heart  and  fearless  in 
my  conscience !  Ay,  ay, "  muttered  he  to  him- 
self, "poor  old  Ireland  isn't  what  it  used  to  be!" 

' '  I'm  very  sorry,  Sir ;  but  though  I'd  like  im- 
mensely to  go  back  with  you,  don't  you  think  I 
ought  to  return  home  ?" 

"I  don't  think  any  thing  of  the  sort.  Your 
aunt  and  I  had  a  tiff  the  last  time  we  met,  and 
that  was  some  months  ago.  We're  both  of  us 
|  old  and  cross-grained  enough  to  keep  up  the 
1  grudge  for  the  rest  of  our  lives.  Let  us,  then, 
I  make  the  most  of  the.  accident  that  has  led  you 
;  here,  and  when  you  go  home  you  shall  be  the 
!  bearer  of  the  most  submissive  message  I  can  in- 
vent to  my  old  friend,  and  there  shall  be  no 
terms  too  humble  for  me  to  ask  her  pardon." 

"  That's  enough,  Sir.     I'll  breakfast  here." 

"  Of  course  you'll  say  nothing  of  what  brought 
you  over  here.  But  I  ought  to  warn  you  not 
to  drop  any  thing  carelessly  about  politics  in  the 
county  generally,  for  we  have  a  young  relative 
and  a  private  secretary  of  the  Lord  Lieutenant's 
visiting  us,  and  it's  as  well  to  be  cautious  before 
him." 

The  old  man  mentioned  this  circumstance  in 
the  cursory  tone  of  an  ordinary  remark,  but  he 
could  not  conceal  the  pride  he  felt  in  the  rank 
and  condition  of  his  guest.  As  for  Gorman, 
perhaps  it  was  his  foreign  breeding,  perhaps  his 
ignorance  of  all  home  matters  generally,  but  he 
simply  assented  to  the  force  of  the  caution,  and 
paid  no  other  attention  to  the  incident. 

"His  name  is  Walpole,  and  he  is  related  to 
half  the  peerage,"  said  the  old  man,  with  some 
irritation  of  manner. 

A  mere  nod  acknowledged  the  information, 
and  he  went  on : 

"This  was  the  young  fellow  who  was  with 
Kitty  on  the  night  they  attacked  the  Castle,  and 
he  got  both  bones  of  his  fore-arm  smashed  with 
a  shot." 

"An  ugly  wound,"  was  the  only  rejoinder. 

"  So  it  was,  and  for  a  while  they  thought  he'd 
lose  the  arm.  Kitty  says  he  behaved  beauti- 
fully, cool  and  steady  all  through." 

Another  nod,  but  this  time  Gorman's  lips 
were  firmly  compressed. 

"There's  no  denying  it,"  said  the  old  man, 
with  a  touch  of  sadness  in  his  voice — "there's 
no  denying  it,  the  English  have  courage ;  though," 
added  he,  afterward,  "it's  in  a  cold,  sluggish 
way  of  their  own,  which  we  don't  like  here. 
There  he  is  now,  that  young  fellow  that  has  just 
parted  from  the  two  girls.  The  tall  one  is  my 
niece.     I  must  present  you  to  her." 


CHAPTER  XL. 

OLD    MEMORIES. 

Though  both  Kate  Kearney  and  young  O'Shea 
had  greatly  outgrown  each  other's  recollection, 
there  were  still  traits  of  feature  remaining,  and 
certain  tones  of  voice,  by  which  they  were  car- 
ried back  to  old  times  and  old  associations. 

Among  the  strange  situations  in  life,  there  are 
few  stranger,  or,  in  certain  respects,  more  pain- 
ful, than  the  meeting  after  long  absence  of  those 
who,  when  they  had  parted  years  before,  were 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


107 


on  terms  of  closest  intimacy,  and  who  BOW  BM 
each  oiIht  changed  by  time,  with  altered  habits 
and  manners,  and  impressed  in  ■  variety  of 
ways  with  influences  and  associations  which  im- 
part their  own  stamp  mi  character. 

It  is  very  difficult  at  such  moments  to  remem- 
ber how  far  we  ourselves  have  changed  in  the 
interval,  and  how  much  of  what  we  regard  as 
altered  in  another  may  not  simply  he  the  new 
Stand-point  from  which  we  are  looking,  and  thus 
our  friend  may  be  graver,  or  sadder,  or  more 
thoughtful,  or.  as  it  may  happen,  seem  less  re- 
flective and  less  considerative  than  we  have 
thought  him — all  because  the  world  has  been 
meantime  dealing  with  ourselves  in  such  wise 
that  qualities  we  once  cared  for  have  lost  much 
of  their  value,  and  others  that  we  had  deemed 
of  slight  account  have  grown  into  importance 
with  us. 

Most  of  us  know  the  painful  disappointment 
of  revisiting  scenes  which  had  impressed  ns 
strongly  in  early  life  :  how  the  mountain  we  re- 
garded with  a  wondering  admiration  had  be- 
come a  mere  hill,  and  the  romantic  tarn  a  pool 
of  sluggish  water;  and  some  of  this  same  awak- 
ening pursues  us  in  our  renewal  of  old  intima- 
cies, and  we  find  ourselves  continually  warring 
with  our  recollections. 

Besides  this,  there  is  another  source  of  unea- 
siness that  presses  unceasingly.  It  is  in  imput- 
ing every  change  we  discover,  or  think  we  dis- 
cover in  our  friend,  to  some  unknown  influences 
that  have  asserted  their  power  over  him  in  our 
absence,  and  thus  when  we  find  that  our  argu- 
ments have  lost  their  old  force,  and  our  persua- 
sions can  be  stoutly  resisted,  we  begin  to  think 
that  some  other  must  have  usurped  our  place, 
and  that  there  is  treason  in  the  heart  we  had 
deemed  to  be  loyally  our  own. 

How  far  Kate  and  Gorman  suffered  under 
these  irritations  I  do  not  stop  to  inquire,  but 
certain  it  is  that  all  their  renewed  intercourse 
was  little  other  than  snappish  reminders  of  un- 
favorable change  in  each,  and  assurances  more 
frank  than  flattering  that  they  had  not  improved 
in  the  interval. 

'"How  well  I  know  every  tree  and  alley  of 
this  old  garden !"  said  he,  as  they  strolled  along 
one  of  the  walks  in  advance  of  the  others. 
••  Nothing  is  changed  here  but  the  people." 

"And  do  you  think  we  are?"  asked  she, 
quietly. 

"  I  should  think  I  do !  Not  so  much  for  your 
father,  perhaps.  I  suppose  men  of  his  time  of 
life  change  little,  if  at  all;  but  you  are  as  cere- 
monious as  if  I  had  been  introduced  to  you  this 
morning." 

"Ton  addressed  me  so  deferentially  as  Miss 
Kearney,  and  with  such  an  assuring  little  in- 
timation that  you  were  not  either  very  certain 
of  that,  that  I  shoidd  have  been  very  courageous 
indeed  to  remind  you  that  I  once  was  Kate. " 

"  No,  not  Kate — Kitty,"  rejoined  he,  quickly. 

"Oh  yes,  perhaps,  when  you  were  young,  but 
we  grew  out  of  that." 

••Did  we?     And  when?" 

"When  we  gave  up  climbing   cherry 
and  ceased  to  pull  each  other's  hair  when  we 
were  angry." 

"Oh  dear!"  said  he,  drearily,  as  his  head 
sunk  heavily. 

"You  seem  to  sigh  over  those  blissful  times, 


Mr.  O'Sliea,"  said  she,  "as  if  they  were  terribly 
to  be  regretted." 

••  So  they  are.     So  I  Feel  them." 

"  I  never  knew  before  that  quarreling  left  such 
pleasant  associations. " 

"My  memory  is  good  enough  to  remember 

times  when  we  were  not  quarreling — when  I  used 
to  think  you  were  nearer  an  angel  than  a  human 
creature — ay,  when  1  have  had  flic  boldness  to 
tell  you  so." 

"  You  don't  mean  th<it .'" 
"  I  do  mean  it,  and  1  should  like  to  know  why 
I  should  not  mean  it?" 

"For  a  great  many  reasons — one  among  the 
number,  that  it  would  have  been  highly  indis- 
creet to  turn  a  poor  child's  head  with  a  Stupid 
flattery. " 

"But  were  you  a  child?  If  I'm  right,  you 
were  not  very  far  from  fifteen  at  the  time  I  speak 
of." 

"How  shocking  that  you  should  remember 
a  young  lady's  age!" 

"That  is  not  the  point  at  all,"  said  he,  as 
though  she  had  been  endeavoring  to  introduce 
another  issue. 

"And  what  is  the  point,  pray?"  asked  she, 
haughtily. 

"Well,  it  is  this — how  many  have  uttered 
what  you  call  Stupid  flatteries  since  that  time, 
and  how  have  they  been  taken?" 

"Is  this  a  question?"  asked  she.      "I  mean, 
a  question  seeking  to  be  answered  ?" 
"  I  hope  so." 

"Assuredly,  then,  Mr.  O'Shea,  however  time 
has  been  dealing  with  ?ne,  it  has  contrived  to 
take  marvelous  liberties  with  you  since  we  met. 
Uo  you  not  know,  Sir,  that  this  is  a  speech  you 
would  not  have  uttered  long  ago  for  worlds  ?" 

"If  I  have  forgotten  myself  as  well  as  you," 
said  he,  with  deep  humility,  "I  very  humbly 
crave  pardon.  Not  but  there  were  days,"  added 
he,  "when  my  mistake,  if  I  made  one,  would 
have  been  forgiven  without  my  asking." 

"There's  a  slight  touch  of  presumption,  Sir, 
in  telling  me  what  a  wonderful  person  I  used  to 
think  you  long  ago." 

"So  you  did!"  cried  he,  eagerly.  "In  re- 
turn for  the  homage  I  laid  at  your  feet — as  hon- 
est art  adoration  as  ever  a  heart  beat  with,  you 
condescended  to  let  me  build  my  ambitions  be- 
fore you,  and  I  must  own  you  made  the  edifice 
very  dear  to  me." 

"  To  be  sure,  I  do  remember  it  all,  ami  I  used 
to  play  or  sing,  'Mein  Schatz  ist  ein  ltciter,' 
and  take  your  word  that  you  were  going  to  be  a 
Lancer — 

In  file  arrayed, 
With  helm  and  blade, 
And  plume  in  the  gay  wind  dancing. 

I'm  certain  my  cousin  would  be  charmed  to  see 
you  in  all  your  bravery." 

"  Your  cousin  will  not  speak  to  me,  for  being 
an  Austrian." 

"  Has  she  told  you  so?" 

"  Yes  ;   she  said  it  at  breakfast." 

"That  denunciation  does  not  sound  very  dan- 
gerously;  is  it  not  worth  your  while  to  struggle 

against  :i  liliseniieeption  ? 

"  I  have  had  such  luck  in  my  present  attempt 
as  should  scarcely  raise  my  courage." 

••  You  are  too  ingenious  by  far  for  mc,  Mr. 
O'Shea,"  said  she,  carelessly.     "  1    neither   N 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


member  so  well  as  you,  nor  have  I  that  nice 
subtlety  in  detecting  all  the  lapses  each  of  us  has 
made  since  long  ago.  Try,  however,  if  you  can 
not  get  on  better  with  Mademoiselle  Kostalergi, 
where  there  are  no  antecedents  to  disturb  you." 

"  I  will ;  that  is,  if  she  let  me." 

"I  trust  she  may,  and  not  the  less  willingly, 
perhaps,  as  she  evidently  will  not  speak  to  Mr. 
Walpole. " 

"Ah,  indeed,  and  is  he  here?"  He  stopped 
and  hesitated ;  and  the  full,  bold  look  she  gave 
him  did  not  lessen  his  embarrassment. 

"Well,  Sir,"  asked  she,  "go  on:  is  this  an- 
other reminiscence?" 

"No,  Miss  Kearney;  I  was  only  thinking  of 
asking  you  who  this  Mr.  Walpole  was." 

"Mr.  Cecil  Walpole  is  a  nephew  or  a  some- 
thing to  the  Lord  Lieutenant,  whose  private  sec- 
retary he  is.  He  is  veiy  clever,  very  amusing — 
sings,  draws,  rides,  and  laughs  at  the  Irish  to 
perfection.     I  hope  you  mean  to  like  him." 

"Do  you?" 

"Of  course,  or  I  should  not  have  bespoken 
your  sympathy.  My  cousin  used  to  like  him, 
but  somehow  he  has  fallen  out  of  favor  with  her. " 

"Was  he  absent  some  time?"  asked  he,  with 
a  half-cunning  manner. 

"  Yes,  I  believe  there  was  something  of  that 
in  it.  He  was  not  here  for  a  considerable  time, 
and  when  we  saw  him  again  we  almost  owned 
we  were  disappointed.  Papa  is  calling  me  from 
the  window;  pray  excuse  me  for  a  moment." 
She  left  him  as  she  spoke,  and  ran  rapidly  back 
to  the  house,  whence  she  returned  almost  imme- 
diately. ' '  It  was  to  ask  you  to  stop  and  dine 
here,  Mr.  O'Shea,"  said  she.  "There  will  be 
ample  time  to  send  back  to  Miss  O'Shea ;  and 
if  you  care  to  have  your  dinner-dress,  they  can 
send  it." 

"  This  is  Mr.  Kearney's  invitation?"  asked  he. 

"  Of  course;  papa  is  the  master  at  Kilgobbin." 

"But  will  Miss  Kearney  condescend  to  say 
that  it  is  hers  also  ?" 

"  Certainly,  though  I'm  not  aware  what  solem- 
nity the  engagement  gains  by  my  co-operation." 

"I  accept  at  once,  and  if  you  allow  me  I'll  go 
back  and  send  a  line  to  my  aunt  to  say  so." 

"Don't  you  remember  Mr.  O'Shea,  Dick?" 
asked  she,  as  her  brother  lounged  up,  making 
his  first  appearance  that  day. 

"  I'd  never  have  known  you,"  said  he,  survey- 
ing him  from  head  to  foot,  without,  however, 
any  mark  of  cordiality  in  the  recognition. 

"All  find  me  a  good  deal  changed  !"  said  the 
young  fellow,  drawing  himself  to  his  full  height, 
and  with  an  air  that  seemed  to  say — "and  none 
the  worse  for  it." 

"  I  used  to  fancy  I  was  more  than  your  match," 
rejoined  Dick,  smiling.  "  I  suspect  it's  a  mis- 
take I'm  little  likely  to  incur  again." 

"Don't,  Dick,  for  he  has  got  a  very  ugly  way 
of  ridding  people  of  their  illusions,"  said  Kate, 
as  she  turned  once  more  and  walked  rapidly  to- 
ward the  house. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

TWO    FAMILIAR    EPISTLES. 

There  were  a  number  of  bolder  achievements 
Gorman  O'Shea  would  have  dared  rather  than 
write  a  note ;  nor  were  the  cares  of  the  composi- 


tion the  only  difficulties  of  the  undertaking.  He 
knew  of  but  one  style  of  correspondence — the 
report  to  his  commanding  officer,  and  in  this  he 
was  aided  by  a  formula  to  be  filled  up.  It  was 
not,  then,  till  after  several  efforts  he  succeeded 
in  the  following  familiar  epistle : 

"  KrLGOBBiN  Castle. 

"Dear  Aunt, — Don't  blow  up  or  make  a 
rumpus ;  but  if  I  had  not  taken  the  mare  and 
come  over  here  this  morning,  the  rascally  police 
with  their  search- warrant  might  have  been  down 
upon  Mr.  Kearney  without  a  warning.  They 
were  all  stiff  and  cold  enough  at  first :  they  are 
nothing  to  brag  of  in  the  way  of  cordiality  even 
yet — Dick  especially — but  they  have  asked  me  to 
stay  and  dine,  and  I  take  it  it  is  the  right  thing 
to  do.  Send  me  over  some  things  to  dress  with, 
and  believe  me,  your  affectionate  nephew, 

"  G.  O'Shea. 

"  I  send  the  mare  back,  and  shall  walk  home 
to-morrow  morning. 

"There's  a  great  Castle  swell  here,  a  Mr. 
Walpole;  but  I  have  not  made  his  acquaintance 
yet,  and  can  tell  nothing  about  him." 

Toward  a  late  hour  of  the  afternoon  a  messen- 
ger arrived  with  an  ass-cart  and  several  trunks 
from  O'Shea's  Barn,  and  with  the  following 
note: 

"Dear  Nephew  Gorman, — O'Shea's  Barn 
is  not  an  inn,  nor  are  the  horses  there  at  public 
livery.  So  much  for  your  information.  As  you 
seem  fond  of  'warnings,'  let  me  give  you  one, 
which  is,  To  mind  your  own  affairs  in  preference 
to  the  interests  of  other  people.  The  family  at 
Kilgobbin  are  perfectly  welcome — so  far  as  I  am 
concerned — to  the  fascinations  of  your  society  at 
dinner  to-day,  at  breakfast  to-morrow,  and  so 
on,  with  such  regularity  and  order  as  the  meals 
succeed.  To  which  end  I  have  now  sent  you  all 
the  luggage  belonging  to  you  here. 

' '  I  am,  very  respectfully,  your  aunt, 

''Elizabeth  O'Shea." 

The  quaint,  old-fashioned,  rugged  writing  was 
marked  throughout  by  a  certain  distinctness  and 
accuracy  that  betokened  care  and  attention ; 
there  was  no  evidence  whatever  of  haste  or  pas- 
sion, and  this  expression  of  a  serious  determina- 
tion, duly  weighed  and  resolved  on,  made  itself 
very  painfully  felt  by  the  young  man  as  he  read. 

"I  am  turned  out — in  plain  words,  turned 
out!"  said  he  aloud,  as  he  sat  with  the  letter 
spread  out  before  him.  "  It  must  have  been  no 
common  quarrel — not  a  mere  coldness  between 
the  families — when  she  resents  my  coming  here 
in  this  fashion."  That  innumerable  differences 
could  separate  neighbors  in  Ireland,  even  per- 
sons with  the  same  interests  and  the  same  relig- 
ion, he  well  knew,  and  he  solaced  himself  to 
think  how  he  could  get  at  the  source  of  this  dis- 
agreement, and  what  chance  there  might  be  of  a 
reconciliation. 

Of  one  thing  he  felt  certain.  Whether  his  aunt 
were  right  or  wrong,  whether  tyrant  or  victim,  he 
knew  in  his  heart  all  the  submission  must  come 
from  the  others.  He  had  only  to  remember  a 
few  of  the  occasions  in  life  in  which  he  had  to 
entreat  his  aunt's  forgiveness  for  the  injustice 
she  had  herself  inflicted,  to  anticipate  what  hum- 


LORD  KlLGOBBIN. 


100 


ble  pie  Maurice  Kearney  must  partake  of  in  or- 
der to  conciliate  Miss  Bettj  'a  favor. 

"Meanwhile,"  be  thought,  and  not  only 
thought,  l>ut  Baid,  too— "meanwhile,  1  am  on 

the  world." 

Up  to  this,  she  had  allowed  him  a  small  year- 
ly income.     Father  Luke,  whose  judgment  on 

all  things  relating  to  Continental  lite  was  unim- 
peachable, hail  told  her  that  any  thing  like  the 

reputation  of  being  well  off  or  connected  with 
wealthy  people  would  lead  a  young  man  into 
ruin  m  the  Austrian  service  :  that  with  a  sum  of 
8000  francs  per  annum — about  £120 — he  would 
be  in  possession  of  something  like  the  double  of 
his  pay,  or  rather  more,  and  that  with  this  he 
would  be  enabled  to  have  all  the  necessaries  and 
many  of  the  comforts  of  his  station,  and  still  not 
be  a  mark  for  that  high  play  and  reckless  style 
of  living  that  certain  young  Hungarians  of  fam- 
ily and  large  fortune  affected ;  and  so  far  the 
priest  was  correct,  for  the  young  Gorman  was 
wasteful  and  extravagant  from  disposition,  and 
his  quarter's  allowance  disappeared  almost  when 
it  came.  His  money  out,  he  fell  back  at  once 
to  the  penurious  habits  of  the  poorest  subaltern 
about  him,  and  lived  on  his  florin-and-half  per 
diem  till  his  resources  came  round  again.  He 
hoped — of  course  he  hoped — that  this  momentary 
fit  of  temper  would  not  extend  to  stopping  his 
allowance. 

"  She  knows  as  well  as  any  one,"  muttered  he, 
"that  though  the  baker's  son  from  Prague,  or 
the  Amtmann's  nephew  from  a  Bavarian  Dorf, 
may  manage  to  'come  through' with  bis  pay,  the 
young  Englishman  can  not.  I  can  neither  piece 
my  own  overalls,  nor  forswear  stockings,  nor  can 
I  persuade  my  stomach  that  it  has  had  a  full 
m  al  by  tightening  my  girth-strap  three  or  four 
holes. 

"  I'd  go  down  to  the  ranks  to-morrow  rather 
than  live  that  life  of  struggle  and  contrivance,  that 
reduces  a  man  to  playing  a  dreary  game  with 
himself,  by  which,  while  he  feeds  like  a  pauper, 
he  has  to  fancy  he  felt  like  a  gentleman.  No, 
no ;  I'll  none  of  this.  Scores  of  better  men  have 
served  in  the  ranks.  I'll  just  change  my  regi- 
ment. By  a  lucky  chance,  I  don't  know  a  man 
in  the  Walmoden  Cuirassiers.  I'll  join  them, 
and  nobody  will  ever  be  the  wiser." 

There  is  a  class  of  men  who  go  through  life 
building  very  small  castles,  and  are  no  more  dis- 
couraged by  the  frailty  of  the  architecture  than 
is  a  child  with  his  toy-house.  This  was  Gor- 
man's case ;  and  now  that  he  had  found  a  solu- 
tion of  his  difficulties  in  the  Walmoden  Cuiras- 
siers, he  really  dressed  for  dinner  in  very  tolera- 
ble spirits.  "It's  droll  enough,"  thought  he, 
"to  go  down  to  dine  among  all  these  'swells.' 
and  to  think  that  the  fellow  behind  my  chair  is 
better  off  than  myself."  The  very  uncertainty 
of  his  fate  supplied  excitement  to  his  spirits,  for 
it  is  among  the  privileges  of  the  young  that  mere 
flurry  can  be  pleasurable. 

When  Gorman  reached  the  drawing-room  he 
found  only  one  person.  This  was  a  young  man 
in  a  shooting-coat,  who,  deep  in  the  recess  of  a 
comfortable  arm-chair,  sat  with  The  Times  at 
his  feet,  and  to  all  appearance  as  if  half  dozing. 

He  looked  around,  however,  as  young  O'Shea 
came  forward,  and  said,  carelessly,  "I  suppose 
it-  time  to  go  and  dress — if  I  could." 

O'Shea  making  no  reply,    the  other   added, 


"That   is,  if  I   have  not  Overslept   dinner  alto- 
gether." 

■•  l  hope  not.  sincerely,"  rejoined  tin-  other, 

"or  I  shall  be  a  partner  in  the  misfortune." 

"Ali,  you're  the  Austrian,"  saiil  Walpole,  as 
he  st in  k  his  glass  in  his  eye  and  surveyed  him. 

"Yes;  and  you  are  the  private  secretary  of 
the  Governor." 

"  Only  we  don't  call  him  Governor.  We  say 
'  Viceroy  here." 

'•  With  all  my  heart.  Viceroy  be  it." 

There  was  a  pause  now,  each,  as  it  were, 
standing  on  his  guard  to  resent  any  liberty  of 
the  other.  '  At  last  Walpole  said,  "  I  don't  think 
you  were  in  the  house  when  that  stupid  stipend- 
iary fellow  called  here  this  morning?'' 

"No;  I  was  strolling  across  the  fields.  He 
came  with  the  police,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,  he  came  on  the  track  of  some  Fenian 
leader — a  droll  thought  enough  any  where  out 
of  Ireland  to  search  for  a  rebel  under  a  magis- 
trate's roof;  not  but  there  was  something  still 
more  Irish  in  the  incident." 

"  How  was  that  ? "  asked  ( I'Shea,  eagerly. 

"  I  chanced  to  be  out  walking  with  the  ladies 
when  the  escort  came  ;  and  as  they  failed  to  find 
the  man  they  were  after,  they  proceeded  to  make 
diligent  search  for  his  papers  and  letters.  That 
taste  for  practical  joking  that  seems  an  instinct 
in  this  country  suggested  to  Mr.  Kearney  to 
direct  the  fellows  to  my  room  ;  and  what  do  you 
think  they  have  done  ?  Carried  off'  bodily  all 
my  baggage,  and  left  me  with  nothing  but  the 
clothes  I'm  wearing!" 

"  What  a  lark !"  cried  O'Shea,  laughing. 

"  Yes,  I  take  it  that  is  the  national  way  to 
look  at  these  things ;  but  that  passion  for  ab- 
surdity and  for  ludicrous  situations  has  not  the 
same  hold  on  us  English. " 

"  I  know  that.  You  are  too  well  off  to  be  droll." 

"Not  exactly  that;  but  when  we  want  to 
laugh  we  go  to  the  'Adelphi.'" 

"  Heaven  help  you  if  you  have  to  pay  people 
to  make  fun  for  you ! " 

Before  Walpole  could  make  rejoinder,  the 
door  opened  to  admit  the  ladies,  closely  followed 
by  Mr.  Kearney  and  Dick. 

"  Not  mine  the  fault  if  I  disgrace  your  dinner- 
table  by  such  a  costume  as  this,"  cried  Walpole. 

"I'd  have  given  twenty  pounds  if  they'd  have 
carried,  off  yourself  as  the  rebel!"  said  the  old 
man,  shaking  with  laughter.  "But  there's  the 
soup  on  the  table.  Take  my  niece,  Mr.  Wal- 
pole. Gorman,  give  your  arm  to  my  daughter. 
Dick  and  I  will  bring  up  the  rear." 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

AN    EVENING    IN    THE    DKAWINO-ROOM. 

The  fatalism  of  youth,  unlike  that  of  age,  is 
all  rose-colored.  That  which  is  coming,  and  is 
decreed  to  come,  can  not  be  very  disagreeable. 
This  is  the  theory  of  the  young,  and  differs  ter- 
ribly from  the  experiences  of  after-life.     Gorman 

O'Shea  had  gone  to  dinner  with  about  as  heavy 
a  mi-fortune  as  could  well  befall  him,  so  far  as 
his  future  in  life  was  concerned.  All  he  looked 
forward  to  and  hoped  for  was  lost  to  him:  the 
aunt  who,  for  so  many  years,  bad  stood  to  him 
|  in  place  of  all  family,  had  suddenly  thrown  him 


no 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


off,  and  declared  that  she  would  see  him  no 
more ;  the  allowance  she  had  hitherto  given  him 
withdrawn,  it  was  impossible  he  could  continue 
to  hold  his  place  in  his  regiment.  Should  he  de- 
termine not  to  return,  it  was  desertion ;  should 
he  go  back,  it  must  be  to  declare  that  he  was  a 
ruined  man,  and  could  only  serve  in  the  ranks. 
These  were  the  thoughts  he  revolved  while  he 
dressed  for  dinner,  and  dressed,  let  it  be  owned, 
with  peculiar  care ;  but  when  the  task  had  been 
accomplished,  and  he  descended  to  the  drawing- 
room,  such  was  the  elasticity  of  his  young  tem- 
perament, every  thought  of  coming  evil  was 
merged  in  the  sense  of  present  enjoyment,  and 
the  merry  laughter  which  he  overheard  as  he 
opened  the  door  obliterated  all  notion  that  life 
had  any  thing  before  him  except  what  was  agree- 
able and  pleasant. 

"  We  want  to  know  if  you  play  croquet,  Mi-. 
O'Shea?"  said  Nina  as  he  entered.  "And  we 
want  also  to  know,  are  you  a  captain,  or  a  drill- 
master,  or  a  major?  You  can  scarcely  be  a 
colonel." 

' '  Your  last  guess  I  answer  first.  I  am  only 
a  lieutenant,  and  even  that  very  lately.  As  to 
croquet,  if  it  be  not  your  foreign  mode  of  pro- 
nouncing cricket,  I  never  even  saw  it. " 

"It  is  not  my  foreign  mode  of  pronouncing 
cricket,  Herr  Lieutenant, " said  she,  pertly,  "but 
1  guessed  already  you  had  never  heard  of  it. " 

"  It  is  an  out-of-door  affair,"  said  Dick,  indo- 
lently, "  made  for  the  diffusion  of  worked  petti- 
coats and  Balmoral  boots." 

"I  should  say  it  is  the  game  of  billiards 
brought  down  to  universal  suffrage  and  the  mill- 
ion," lisped  out  Walpole. 

"Faith,"  cried  old  Kearney,  "I'd  say  it  was 
just  foot-ball  with  a  stick." 

"At  all  events,"  said  Kate,  "we  purpose  to 
have  a  grand  match  to-morrow.  Mr.  Walpole 
and  I  are  against  Nina  and  Dick,  and  we  are  to 
draw  lots  for  you,  Mr.  O'Shea." 

"My  position,  if  I  understand  it  aright,  is  not 
a  flattering  one,"  said  he,  laughing. 

"We'll  take  him,"  cried  Nina  at  once.  "  I'll 
give  him  a  private  lesson  in  the  morning,  and 
I'll  answer  for  his  performance.  These  creat- 
ures," added  she,  in  a  whisper,  "are  so  drilled 
in  Austria,  you  can  teach  them  any  thing." 

Now,  as  the  words  were  spoken,  Gorman 
caught  them,  and  drawing  close  to  her — "I  do 
hope  I'll  justify  that  nattering  opinion."  But 
her  only  recognition  was  a  look  of  half-defiant 
astonishment  at  his  boldness. 

A  very  noisy  discussion  now  ensued  as  to 
whether  croquet  was  worthy  to  be  called  a  game 
or  not,  and  what  were  its  laws  and  rules — points 
which  Gorman  followed  with  due  attention,  but 
very  little  profit ;  all  Kate's  good  sense  and  clear- 
ness being  cruelly  dashed  by  Nina's  ingenious 
interruptions,  and  Walpole's  attempts  to  be 
6mart  and  witty,  even  where  opportunity  scarce- 
ly offered  the  chance. 

"Next  to  looking  on  at  the  game,"  cried  old 
Kearney  at  last,  "  the  most  tiresome  thing  I 
know  of  is  to  hear  it  talked  over.  Come,  Nina, 
and  give  me  a  song." 

"What  shall  it  be,  uncle?"  said  she,  as  she 
opened  the  piano. 

"  Something  Irish  I'd  say,  if  I  were  to  choose 
for  myself.  We've  plenty  of  old  tunes,  Mr.  Wal- 
pole," said  Kearney,  turning  to  that  gentleman, 


"that  rebellion,  as  you  call  it,  has  never  got 
hold  of.  There's  '  Cushla  Macree'  and  the  '  Cai- 
lan  deas  cruidhte  na  Mbo.' " 

"Very  like  hard  swearing  that,"  said  Walpole 
to  Nina ;  but  his  simper  and  his  soft  accent  were 
only  met  by  a  cold  blank  look,  as  though  she  had 
not  understood  his  liberty  in  addressing  her.  In- 
deed, in  her  distant  manner  and  even  repelling 
coldness,  there  was  what  might  have  disconcert- 
ed any  composure  less  consummate  than  his 
own.  It  was,  however,  evidently  Walpole's  aim 
to  assume  that  she  felt  her  relation  toward  him, 
and  not  altogether  without  some  cause;  while 
she,  on  her  part,  desired  to  repel  the  insinuation 
by  a  show  of  utter  indifference.  She  would  will- 
ingly, in  this  contingency,  have  encouraged  her 
cousin,  Dick  Kearney,  and  even  led  him  on  to 
little  displays  of  attention  ;  but  Dick  held  aloof, 
as  though  not  knowing  the  meaning  of  this  fa- 
vorable turn  toward  him.  He  would  not  be 
cheated  by  coquetry.  How  many  men  are  of 
this  temper,  and  who  never  understand  that  it  is 
by  surrendering  ourselves  to  numberless  little  vol- 
untary deceptions  of  this  sort,  we  arrive  at  inti- 
macies the  most  real  and  most  truthful. 

She  next  tried  Gorman,  and  here  her  success 
was  complete.  All  those  womanly  prettinesses, 
which  are  so  many  modes  of  displaying  graceful 
attraction  of  voice,  look,  gesture,  or  attitude, 
were  especially  dear  to  him.  Not  only  they  gave 
beauty  its  chief  charm,  but  they  constituted  a 
sort  of  game  whose  address  was  quickness  of 
eye,  readiness  of  perception,  prompt  reply,  and 
that  refined  tact  that  can  follow  out  one  thought 
in  a  conversation  just  as  you  follow  a  melody 
through  a  mass  of  variations. 

Perhaps  the  young  soldier  did  not  yield  him- 
self the  less  readily  to  these  captivations  that 
Kate  Kearney's  manner  toward  him  was  stu- 
diously cold  and  ceremonious. 

"The  other  girl  is  more  like  the  old  friend," 
muttered  he,  as  he  chatted  on  with  her  about 
Home,  and  Florence,  and  Venice,  imperceptibly 
gliding  into  the  language  which  the  names  of 
places  suggested. 

' '  If  any  had  told  me  that  I  ever  could  have 
talked  thus  freely  and  openly  with  an  Austrian 
soldier  I'd  not  have  believed  him,"  said  she  at 
length,  "for  all  my  sympathies  in  Italy  were 
with  the  National  party. " 

"But  we  were  not  '  the  Barbari'  in  your  recol- 
lection, mademoiselle,"  said  he.  "  We  were  out 
of  Italy  before  you  could  have  any  feeling  for 
either  party." 

"The  tradition  of  all  your  cruelties  has  sur- 
vived you ;  and  I  am  sure  if  you  were  wearing 
your  white  coat  still,  I'd  hate  you." 

"You  are  giving  me  another  reason  to  ask 
for  a  longer  leave  of  absence,"  said  he,  bowing 
courteously. 

"And  this  leave  of  yours,  how  long  does  it 
last?" 

"I  am  afraid  to  own  to  myself.  Wednesday 
fortnight  is  the  end  of  it ;  that  is,  it  gives  me 
four  days  after  that  to  reach  Vienna. " 

"And,  presenting  yourself  in  humble  guise 
before  your  Colonel,  to  say,  'Ich  melde  mich 
gehorsamst.'" 

"Not  exactly  that,  but  something  like  it." 

"I'll  be  the  Herr  Oberst  Lieutenant,"  said 
she,  laughing;  "so  come  forward  now,  and  clap 
your  heels  together,  and  let  us  hear  how  you  ut- 


LOUD  KlLGOI'.l'.lX. 


Ill 


tcr  your  few  syllables  in  true  abject  fashion.  I'll 
sit  here  and  receive  yon."  A>  she  Bpoke  Bhe 
threw  herself  into  an  arm-chair,  and,  assuming  a 

look  of  intense  hauteur  and  defiance,  affected  to 
stroke  an   imaginary  mustache  with  one  hand, 

while  with  the  other  she  waved  a  haughty  ges- 
ture of  welcome. 

"I  have  outstaid  my  leave, "  muttered  Gor- 
man, in  a  tremulous  tone.  "  I  hope  my  Colonel, 
with  that  bland  mercy  which  characterizes  him, 
will  forgive  ni_\-  fault,  and  let  me  a-k  his  pardon." 
And  with  this,  he  knelt  down  on  one  knee  before 
her  and  kissed  her  hand. 

"What  liberties  are  these,  Sir?"  cried  she,  so 
angrily  that  it  was  not  easy  to  say  whether  the 
anger  was  not  real. 

"  It  is  the  latest  ride  introduced  into  our  serv- 
ice, "said  lie,  with  mock  humility. 

•'Is  that  a  comedy  they  are  acting  yonder," 
said  Walpole,  "or  is  it  a  proverb?" 

"Whatever  the  drama,"  replied  Kate,  coldly, 
"I  don't  think  they  want  a  public." 

"You  may  go  back  to  your  duty,  Herr  Lieu- 
tenant," said  Nina,  proudly,  ami  with  a  signifi- 
cant glance  toward  Kate.  "Indeed,  I  suspect 
you  have  been  rather  neglecting  it  of  late."  And 
with  this  she  sailed  majestically  away  toward  the 
end  of  the  room. 

"I  wish  I  could  provoke  even  that  much  of 
jealousy  from  the  other,"  muttered  Gorman  to 
himself,  as  he  bit  his  lip  in  passion.  And  cer- 
tainly, if  a  look  and  manner  of  calm  unconcern 
meant  auy  thing,  there  was  little  that  seemed 
less  likely. 

"I  am  glad  you  are  going  to  the  piano, 
Nina,"  said  Kate.  "  Mr.  Walpole  has  been  ask- 
ing me  by  what  artifice  you  could  be  induced  to 
sing  something  of  Mendelssohn." 

"I  am  going  to  sing  an  Irish  ballad  for  that 
Austrian  patriot  who,  like  his  national  poet, 
thinks  '  Ireland  a  beautifid  country  to  live  out 
of.'"  Though  a  haughty  toss  of  her  head  ac- 
companied these  words,  there  was  a  glance  in 
her  eye  toward  Gorman  that  plainly  invited  a 
renewal  of  their  half-flirting  hostilities. 

'•  When  I  left  it,  you  had  not  been  here,"  said 
he,  with  an  obsequious  tone,  and  an  air  of  def- 
erence only  too  marked  in  its  courtesy. 

A  slight,  very  faint  blush  on  her  cheek  showed 
that  she  rather  resented  than  accepted  the  Mat- 
tery ;  but  she  appeared  to  be  occupied  in  looking 
through  the  music-books,  and  made  no  rejoinder. 

••  We  want  .Mendelssohn.  Nina,"  said  Kate. 

"Or  at  least  Spohr,"  added  Walpole. 

"  I  never  accept  dictation  about  what  I  sing," 
muttered  Nina,  only  loud  enough  to  be  overheard 
by  Gorman.  "People  don't  tell  you  what 
theme  you  are  to  talk  on  ;  they  don't  presume  to 
say,  '  He  serious,  or  be  witty."'  They  don't  tell 
you  to  come  to  the  aid  of  their  sluggish  natures 
by  pas-ion.  or  to  dispel  their  dreariness  by  flights 
of  fancy  ;  and  why  are  they  to  dare  all  tins  to  us 
who  speak  through  song?" 

"Just  because  you  alone  can  do  these  things," 
said  (iorman,  in  the  same  low  voice  as  she  had 
spoken  in. 

"  Can  I  help  you  in  your  search,  dearest  '■" 
said  Kate,  coming  over  to  the  piano. 

'•  Might  I  hope  to  be  of  use?"  asked  Walpole. 

"  Mr.  O'Shea  wants  me  to  sing  something  for 
him.''  said  Nina,  coldly.  "What  is  it  to  be?" 
asked  she  of  Gorman. 


With  the  readiness  of  one  who  could  respond 
[  to  any  sudden  call  upon  his  tact.  ( rorman  at  once 
took  up  a  piece  of  music  from  tin-  mass  before 

him,  and  said,  "  Here  is  what  I've  been  search- 
ing for."      It  was  a  little  Neapolitan  ballad  of  no 

peculiar  beauty,  but  one  of  those  simple  melodies 

in  which  the  rapid  transition  from  deep  feeling 
to  a  wild,  almost  reckless,  gayety  imparts  all  the 
character. 

"Yes,  I'll  sing  that,"  said  Nina;  and  almost  in 
the  same  breath  the  notes  came  floating  through 
the  air,  slow  and  sad  at  first,  as  though  laboring 
under  some  heavy  sorrow.  The  very  syllables 
faltered  on  her  lips  like  a  grief  struggling  for  ut- 
terance, when,  just  as  a  thrilling  cadence  died 
slowly  away,  she  burst  forth  into  the  wildest  and 
merriest  strain,  something  so  impetuous  in  gaye- 
ty that  the  singer  seemed  to  lose  all  control  of 
expression,  and  floated  away  in  sound  with  every 
caprice  of  enraptured  imagination.  When  in 
the  very  whirlwind  of  this  impetuous  gladness, 
as  though  a  memory  of  a  terrible  sorrow  had 
suddenly  crossed  her,  she  ceased ;  then,  in  tones 
of  actual  agony,  her  voice  rose  to  a  cry  of  such 
utter  misery  as  despair  alone  could  utter.  The 
sounds  died  slowly  away,  as  though  lingeringly. 
Two  bold  chords  followed,  and  she  was  silent. 

None  spoke  in  the  room.  Was  this  real  pas- 
sion, or  was  it  the  mere  exhibition  of  an  accom- 
plished artist,  who  could  call  up  expression  at 
will  as  easily  as  a  painter  could  heighten  color? 
Kate  Kearney  evidently  believed  the  former,  as 
her  heaving  chest  and  her  tremulous  lip  be- 
trayed ;  while  the  cold,  simpering  smile  on  Wal- 
pole's  face,  and  the  "brava,  bravissima"  in 
which  he  broke  the  silence,  vouched  how  he  had 
interpreted  that  show  of  emotion. 

"  If  that  is  singing,  I  wonder  what  is  crying," 
cried  old  Kearney,  while  he  wiped  his  eyes,  very- 
angry  at  his  own  weakness.  "  And  now  will  any 
one  tell  me  what  it  was  all  about?" 

"A  young  girl,  Sir,"  replied  Gorman,  "who, 
by  a  great  effort,  has  rallied  herself  to  dispel 
her  sorrow  and  be  merry,  suddenly  remembers 
that  her  sweetheart  may  not  love  her;  and  the 
more  she  dwells  on  the  thought,  the  more  firmly 
she  believes  it.  That  was  the  cry,  '  He  never 
loved  me,'  that  went  to  all  our  hearts." 

"Faith,  then,  if  Nina  has  to  say  that,"  said 
the  old  man,  "  Heaven  help  the  others  !" 

"  Indeed,  uncle,  you  are  more  gallant  than 
all  these  young  gentlemen,"  said  Nina,  rising 
and  approaching  him. 

"  Why  they  are  not  all  at  your  feet  this  mo- 
ment is  more  than  I  can  tell.  They're  always 
telling  me  the  world  is  changed,  and"  I  begin  to 
see  it  now." 

"I  suspect,  Sir,  it's  pretty  much  what  it  used 
to  be,"  lisped  out  Walpole.  "  We  are  only  less 
den strative  than  our  fathers." 

''.lust  as  I  am  less  extravagant  than  mine," 
cried  Kilgobbin,  "  because  I  have  not  got  it  to 
spend." 

"  I  hope  Mademoiselle  Nina  judges  us  more 
mercifully,"  said  Walpole. 

"Is  that  song  a  favorite  of  yours?"  asked 
she  of  Gorman,  without  noticing  Walpole's  re- 
mark in  any  way. 

"  No,"  said  he,  bluntly;  "it  makes  me  feel 
like  a  fool,  and,  I  am  afraid,  look  like  one  too, 
when  I  hear  it." 

"I'm  glad  there's  even  that  much  blood  in 


112 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


you,"  cried  old  Kearney,  who  had  caught  the 
words.  "  Oh  dear  !  oh  dear !  England  need 
never  be  afraid  of  the  young  generation." 

"  That  seems  to  be  a  very  painful  thought  to 
you,  Sir, "  said  Walpole. 

"And  so  it  is,"  replied  he.  "The  lower 
we  bend,  the  more  you'll  lay  on  us.  It  was 
your  language,  and  what  you  call  your  civiliza- 
tion, broke  us  down  first ;  and  the  little  spirit 
that  fought  against  either  is  fast  dying  out  of 
us. " 

"Do  you  want  Mr.  Walpole  to  become  a  Fe- 
nian, papa?"  asked  Kate. 

"You  see,  they  took  him  for  one  to-day," 
broke  in  Dick,  "when  they  came  and  carried  off 
all  his  luggage." 

"By-the-way,"  interposed  Walpole,  "we  must 
take  care  that  that  stupid  blunder  does  not  get 
into  the  local  papers,  or  we  shall  have  it  circu- 
lated by  the  London  press." 

"  I  have  already  thought  of  that,"  said  Dick, 
"and  I  shall  go  into  Moate  to-morrow  and  see 
about  it." 

"Does  that  mean  to  say  that  you  desert  cro- 
quet ?"  said  Nina,  imperiously. 

"  You  have  got  Lieutenant  O'Shea  in  my  place, 
and  a  better  player  than  me  already." 

"  I  fear  I  must  take  my  leave  to-morrow,"  said 
Gorman,  with  a  touch  of  real  sorrow,  for  in  secret 
he  knew  not  whither  he  was  going. 

"  Would  your  aunt  not  spare  you  to  us  for  a 
few  days ?"  said  the  old  man.  "I  am  in  no  fa- 
vor with  her  just  now,  but  she  would  scarcely  re- 
fuse what  we  would  all  deem  a  great  favor." 

"My  aunt  would  not  think  the  sacrifice  too 
much  for  her,"  said  Gorman,  trying  to  laugh  at 
the  conceit. 

"You  shall  stay,"  murmured  Nina,  in  a  tone 
only  audible  to  him ;  and  by  a  slight  bow  he  ac- 
knowledged the  words  as  a  command. 

"I  believe  my  best  way,"  said  Gorman,  gayly, 
"will  be  to  outstay  my  leave,  and  take  my  pun- 
ishment, whatever  it  be,  when  I  go  back  again." 

"  That  is  military  morality,"  said  Walpole,  in 
a  half-whisper  to  Kate,  but  to  be  overheard  by 
Nina.  "  We  poor  civilians  don't  understand  how 
to  keep  a  debtor  and  creditor  account  with  con- 
science." 

"  Could  you  manage  to  provoke  that  man  to 
quarrel  with  you  ?"  said  Nina,  secretly  to  Gor- 
man, white  her  eyes  glanced  toward  Walpole. 

"I  think  I  might ;  but  what  then ?  He 
wouldn't  fight,  and  the  rest  of  England  would 
shun  me." 

"That  is  true,"  said  she,  slowly.  "When 
any  is  injured  here,  he  tries  to  make  money  out 
of  it.     I  don't  suppose  you  want  money  ?" 

"Not  earned  in  that  fashion,  certainly.  But 
I  think  they  are  saying  good-night." 

"They're  always  boasting  about  the  man  that 
found  out  the  safety-lamp,"  said  old  Kearney, 
as  he  moved  away ;  "  but  give  me  the  fellow  that 
invented  a  flat  candlestick  !" 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

SOME    NIGHT-THOUGHTS. 

When  Gorman  reached  his  room,  into  which 
a  rich  flood  of  moonlight  was  streaming,  he  ex- 
tinguished his  candle,  and,  seating  himself  at  the 


open  window,  lighted  his  cigar,  seriously  believ- 
ing he  was  going  to  reflect  on  his  present  con- 
dition, and  forecast  something  of  the  future. 
Though  he  had  spoken  so  cavalierly  of  outstay- 
ing his  time  and  accepting  arrest  afterward,  the 
jest  was  by  no  means  so  palatable  now  that  he 
was  alone,  arid  could  own  to  himself  that  the 
leave  he  possessed  was  the  unlimited  liberty  to 
be  houseless  and  a  vagabond,  to  have  none  to 
claim,  no  roof  to  shelter  him. 

His  aunt's  law  agent,  the  same  Mr.  M'Keown 
who  acted  for  Lord  Kilgobbin,  had  once  told 
Gorman  that  all  the  King's  County  property  of 
the  O'Sheas  was  entailed  upon  him,  and  that  his 
aunt  had  no  power  to  alienate  it.  It  is  true  the 
old  lady  disputed  this  position,  and  so  strongly 
resented  even  allusion  to  it  that,  for  the  sake  of 
inheriting  that  twelve  thousand  pounds  she  pos- 
sessed in  Dutch  Stock,  M'Keown  warned  Gor- 
man to  avoid  any  thing  that  might  imply  his  be- 
ing aware  of  this  fact. 

Whether  a  general  distrust  of  all  legal  people 
and  their  assertions  was  the  reason,  or  whether 
mere  abstention  from  the  topic  had  impaired  the 
force  of  its  truth,  or  whether — more  likely  than 
either — he  would  not  suffer  himself  to  question 
the  intentions  of  one  to  whom  he  owed  so  much, 
certain  is  it  young  O'Shea  almost  felt  as  much 
averse  to  the  belief  as  the  old  lady  herself,  and 
resented  the  thought  of  its  being  true  as  of  some- 
thing that  would  detract  from  the  spirit  of  the 
affection  she  had  always  borne  him,  and  that  he 
repaid  by  a  love  as  faithful. 

"No,  no.  Confound  it!"  he  would  say  to 
himself.  "Aunt  Betty  loves  me,  and  money 
has  no  share  in  the  affection  I  bear  her.  If  she 
knew  I  must  be  her  heir,  she'd  say  so  frankly 
and  freely.  She'd  scorn  the  notion  of  doling 
out  to  me  as  benevolence  what  one  day  would  be 
my  own  by  right.  She  is  proud  and  intolerant 
enough,  but  she  is  seldom  unjust — never  so  will- 
ingly and  consciously.  If,  then,  she  has  not 
said"  O'Shea's  Barn  must  be  mine  some  time,  it 


LOUD  KILGOBBIN. 


U3 


is  because  she  knows  well  it  can  not  be  true  | 
Besides,  this  very  last  step  of  hers,  this  haughty 
dismissal  of  me  from  her  house,  implies  the  pos- 
session of  a  power  which  -he  would  DOl  <lare  to 
exeicise  if  she  were  hut  a  life-tenant  of  the  prop- 
erty. Last  of  all,  had  she  speculated  ever  so  re- 
motely on  my  being  the  proprietor  of  [risfa  land- 
ed property,  it  was  most  unlikely  she  would  so 
strenuously  have  encouraged  me  to  pursue  my 
career  as  an  Austrian  soldier,  and  turn  all  my 

thoughts  to  my  prospects  under  the  Empire." 

In  fact,  she  never  lost  the  opportunity  of  re- 
minding him  how  unfit  he  was  to  live  in  Ireland 
or  among  Irishmen. 

Such  reflections  as  I  have  briefly  hinted  at 
here  took  him  some  time  to  arrive  at.  for  his 
thoughts  did  not  come  freely,  or  rapidly  make 
place  for  others.  The  sum  of  them,  however, 
was  that  he  was  thrown  upon  the  world,  ami 
just  at  the  very  threshold  of  life,  and  when  it 
held  out  its  more  alluring  prospects, 

There  is  something  peculiarly  galling  to  the 
man  who  is  wincing  under  the  pang  of  poverty 
to  find  that  the  world  regards  him  as  rich  and 
well  off,  and  totally  beyond  the  accidents  of  for- 
tune. It  is  not  simply  that  he  feels  how  his 
every  action  will  he  misinterpreted  and  mistaken, 
and  a  spirit  of  thrift,  if  not  actual  shabhiness, 
ascribed  to  all  that  he  does,  but  he  also  regards 
himself  as  a  sort  of  imposition  or  sham,  who  has 
gained  access  to  a  place  he  has  no  right  to  oc- 
cupy, and  to  associate  on  terms  of  equality  with 
men  of  tastes  and  habits  and  ambitions  totally 
above  his  own.  It  was  in  this  spirit  he  remem- 
bered Nina's  chance  expression,  "I  don't  sup- 
pose you  want  money!"'  There  cotdd  be  no 
other  meaning  in  the  phrase  than  some  fore- 
gone conclusion  about  his  being  a  man  of  for- 
tune. Of  course  she  acquired  this  notion  from 
those  around  her.  As  a  stranger  to  Ireland,  all 
she  knew,  or  thought  she  knew,  had  been  con- 
veyed by  others.  "  I  don't  suppose  you  want 
money,''  was  another  way  of  saying,  "You  are 
your  aunt's  heir.  You  are  the  future  owner  of 
the  O'Shea  estates.  No  vast  property,  it  is  true ; 
but  quite  enough  to  maintain  the  position  of  a 
gentleman." 

"Who  knows  how  much  of  this  Lord  Kilgob- 
bin  or  his  son  Dick  believed  ?"  thought  he. 
"  But  certainly  my  old  playfellow  Kate  has  no 
faith  in  the  matter,  or,  if  she  have,  it  has  little 
weight  with  her  in  her  estimate  of  me. 

"It  was  in  this  very  room  I  was  lodged  some- 
thing like  five  years  ago.  It  was  at  this  very 
window  I  used  to  sit  at  night,  weaving  Heaven 
knows  what  dreams  of  a  future.  I  was  very 
much  in  love  in  those  days,  and  a  very  honest 
and  loyal  love  it  was.  I  wanted  to  be  very  great, 
and  wry  gallant  and  distinguished,  and,  above 
all,  very  rich  ;  but  only  for  her,  only  that  she 
might  be  surrounded  with  every  ta-te  and  luxury 
ih.it  became  her,  and  that  >he  -hould  share  them 
with  me.  I  knew  well  she  was  better  than  me — 
better  in  every  way  :  not  only  purer,  and  simpler, 
and  more  gentle,  but  more  patient,  more  en- 
during, more  tenacious  of  what  was  true,  and 
more  decidedly  the  enemy  of  what  was  merely 
expedient.  Then,  was  Bhe  not  proud?  not  with 
the  pride  of  birth  or  station,  or  of  an  old  name 
and  a  time-honored  house,  but  proud  that  what- 
ever she  did  or  said  among  the  tenantry  or  the 
neighbors,  none  ever  ventured  to  question  or 
II 


even  qualify  the  intention  that  suggested  it  ? 
The    utter    impossibility    of   ascribihg    a    double 

motive   to  her.  or  of  imagining  anj  objeel   in 

what  she  counseled  but  (he  avowed  one,  gave 
her  a  pride  that  accompanied  her  through  every 
hour  of  life. 

"Last  of  all,  she  believed  in  me — believed  I 
was  going  to  be  one  day  something  very  famous 
and  distinguished  :  a  gallant  soldier,  whose  very 
presence  gave  courage  to  the  men  who  followed 
him,  and  with  a  name  repeated  in  honor  over 
Europe.  The  day  was  too  short  for  these  fan- 
cies, for  they  grew  actually  as  we  fed  them, 
and  the  wildest  flight  of  imagination  led  u-  on 
to  the  end  of  the  time  when  there  would  be 
but  one  hope,  one  ambition,  and  one  heart  be- 
tween us. 

"I  am  convinced  that  had  any  one  at  that 
time  hinted  to  her  that  I  was  to  inherit  the 
O'Shea  estates,  he  would  have  dealt  a  most  dan- 
gerous blow  to  her  affection  for  mc.  The  ro- 
mance of  that  unknown  future  had  a  great  share 
in  our  compact.  And  then  we  were  so  serious 
about  it  all — the  very  gravity  it  impressed  being 
an  ecstasy  to  our  young  hearts  in  the  thought  of 
self-importance  and  responsibility.  Nor  were  we 
without  our  little  tiffs — those  lovers'  quarrels  that 
reveal  what  a  terrible  civil  war  can  rage  within 
the  heart  that  rebels  against  itself.  1  know  the 
very  spot  where  we  quarreled  ;  I  could  point  to 
the  miles  of  way  we  walked  side  by  side  without 
a  word  ;  and  oh  !  was  it  not  on  that  very  bed  I 
have  passed  the  night,  sobbing  till  I  thought  my 
heart  would  break,  all  because  I  had  not  fallen 
at  her  feet  and  begged  her  forgiveness  ere  we 
parted?  Not  that  she  was  without  her  self-ac- 
cusings,  too ;  for  I  remember  one  way  in  which 
she  expressed  sorrow  for  having  done  me  wrong 
was  to  send  me  a  shower  of  rose  leaves  from  her 
little  terraced  garden;  and  as  they  fell  in  shoals 
across  my  window,  what  a  balm  ami  bliss  they 
shed  over  my  heart !  Would  I  not  give  every 
hope  I  have  to  bring  it  all  back  again;  to  live  it 
over  once  more;  to  lie  at  her  feet  in  the  grass, 
affecting  to  read  to  her,  but  really  watching  her 
long  black  lashes  as  they  rested  on  her  cheek, 
or  that  quivering  lip  as  it  trembled  with  emotion  ? 
How  I  used  to  detest  that  work  which  employed 
the  blue-veined  hand  I  loved  to  hold  within  my 
own,  kissing  it  at  every  pause  in  the  reading,  or 
whenever  I  could  pretext  a  reason  to  question 
her!  And  now, here  I  am  in  the  self  same  place. 
amidst  the  same  scenes  and  objects.  Nothing 
changed  but  herself I  She,  however,  will  re- 
member nothing  of  the  past,  or,  if  she  does,  it  i- 
with  repugnance  and  regret;  her  manner  to  me 
is  a  sort  of  cold  defiance,  not  to  dare  to  revive 
our  old  intimacy,  nor  to  fancy  that  I  can  take 
up  our  acquaintanceship  from  the  past,    [almost 

fancied  she  looked  resentfully  at  the  ( Ireek  girl 
for  the  freedom  to  which  she  admitted  me— not 
but   there  was  in   the  other's  coquetry   the  very 

stamp  of  that  levity,  other  women  are  so  reads 
to  take  offense  at;  'in  fact,  it  constitutes  among 

W en    exactly    the    same    sort    of  outrage,   the 

-.one  breach  of  honor  and  loyalty,  as  CD 
at  play  does  among  men,  and  the  offenders  are 
BS  much  socially  outlawed  in  one  case  as  in  the 
other.  I  wonder  am  1  what  i>  called  falling  in 
love  with  the  Greek — that  is.  I  wonder  have  the 
charms  of  her  astonishing  beauty,  and  the  grace 
of  her  manner,  and  the  thousand  seductions  of 


Ill 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


her  voice,  her  gestures,  and  her  walk,  above  all, 
so  captivated  me  that  I  do  not  want  to  go  back 
on  the  past,  and  may  hope  soon  to  repay  Miss 
Kate  Kearney  by  an  indifference  the  equal  of 
her  own  ?  I  don't  think  so.  Indeed,  I  feel  that, 
even  when  Nina  was  interesting  me  most,  I  was 
stealing  secret  glances  toward  Kate,  and  cursing 
that  fellow  Walpole  for  the  way  he  was  engaging 
her  attention.  Little  the  Greek  suspected  when 
she  asked  if  'I  could  not  fix  a  quarrel  on  him,' 
with  what  a  motive  it  was  that  my  heart  jumped 
at  the  suggestion!  He  is  so  studiously  cere- 
monious and  distant  with  me ;  he  seems  to 
think  I  am  not  one  of  those  to  be  admitted  to 
closer  intimacy.  I  know  that  English  theory  of 
'the  unsafe  man,'  by  which  people  of  unques- 
tionable courage  avoid  contact  with  all  schooled 
to  other  ways  and  habits  than  their  own.  I  hate 
it.  'I  am  unsafe,' to  his  thinking.  Well,  if 
having  no  reason  to  care  for  safety  be  sufficient, 
he  is  not  far  wrong.  Dick  Kearney,  too,  is  not 
very  cordial.  He  scarcely  seconded  his  father's 
invitation  to  me,  and  what  he  did  say  was  merely 
what  courtesy  obliged.  So  that,  in  reality,  though 
the  old  lord  was  hearty  and  good-natured,  I  be- 
lieve I  am  here  now  because  Mademoiselle  Nina 
commanded  me,  rather  than  from  any  other  rea- 
son. If  this  be  true,  it  is,  to  say  the  least,  a  sorry 
compliment  to  my  sense  of  delicacy.  Her  words 
were,  'You  shall  stay,'  and  it  is  upon  this  I  am 
staying." 

As  though  the  air  of  the  room  grew  more  hard 
to  breathe  with  this  thought  before  him,  he  arose 
and  leaned  half-way  out  of  the  window. 

As  he  did  so,  his  ear  caught  the  sound  of 
voices.  It  was  Kate  and  Nina,  who  were  talking 
on  the  terrace  above  his  head. 

"I  declare,  Nina,"  said  Kate,  "you  have 
stripped  every  leaf  off  my  poor  ivy-geranium ; 
there's  nothing  left  of  it  but  bare  branches." 

"There  goes  the  last  handful,"  said  the  other, 
as  she  threw  them  over  the  parapet,  some  fall- 
ing on  Gorman  as  he  leaned  out.  "It  was  a 
had  habit  I  learned  from  yourself,  child.  I  re- 
member, when  I  came  here  you  used  to  do  this 
each  night,  like  a  religious  rite." 

"  I  suppose  they  were  the  dried  or  withered 
leaves  that  I  threw  away,"  said  Kate,  with  a  half 
irritation  in  her  voice. 

"No,  they  were  not.  They  were  oftentimes 
from  your  prettiest  roses,  and  as  I  watched  you 
I  saw  it  was  in  no  distraction  or  inadvertence 
you  were  doing  this,  for  you  were  generally  si- 
lent and  thoughtful  some  time  before,  and  there 
was  even  an  air  of  sadness  about  you,  as  though 
a  painful  thought  was  bringing  its  gloomy  mem- 
ories." 

"What  an  object  of  interest  I  have  heen  to 
you  without  suspecting  it !"  said  Kate,  coldly. 

"  It  is  true,"  said  the  other,  in  the  same  tone ; 
"  they  who  make  few  confidences  suggest  much 
ingenuity.  If  you  had  a  meaning  in  this  act 
and  told  me  what  it  was,  it  is  more  than  likely 
I  had  forgotten  all  about  it  ere  now.  You  pre- 
ferred secrecy,  and  you  made  me  curious." 

"  There  was  nothing  to  reward  curiosity,"  said 
she,  in  the  same  measured  tone;  then,  after  a 
moment,  she  added,  "  I'm  sure  I  never  sought  to 
ascribe  some  hidden  motive  to  you.  When  you 
left  my  plants  leafless,  I  was  quite  content  to  be- 
lieve that  you  were  mischievous  without  know- 
ing it." 


"  I  read  you  differently,"  said  Nina.  "  When 
you  do  mischief,  you  mean  mischief.  Now  I 
became  so — so — what  shall  I  call  it,  intriguee, 
about  this  little  '  fetich'  of  yours,  that  I  remem- 
ber well  the  night  you  first  left  off  and  never  re- 
sumed it." 

' '  And  when  was  that  ?"  asked  Kate,  care- 
lessly. 

"  On  a  certain  Friday,  the  night  Miss  O'Shea 
dined  here  last ;  was  it  not  a  Friday  ?" 

"Fridays,  we  fancy,  are  unlucky  days,"  said 
Kate,  in  a  voice  of  easy  indifference. 

"I  wonder  which  are  the  lucky  ones?"  said 
Nina,  sighing.  "They  are  certainly  not  put 
down  in  the  Irish  almanac.  By-the-way,  is  not 
this  a  Friday  ?" 

"Mr.  O'Shea  will  not  call  it  among  his  un- 
lucky days,"  said  Kate,  laughingly. 

"I  almost  think  I  like  your  Austrian,"  said 
the  other. 

"Only  don't  call  him  my  Austrian." 

"  Well,  he  was  yours  till  you  threw  him  off. 
No,  don't  be  angry.  I  am  only  talking  in  that 
careless  slang  we  all  use  when  we  mean  nothing, 
just  as  people  employ  counters  instead  of  money 
at  cards  ;  but  I  like  him ;  he  has  that  easy  flip- 
pancy in  talk  that  asks  for  no  effort  to  follow,  and 
he  says  his  little  nothings  nicely,  and  he  is  not 
too  eager  as  to  great  ones,  or  too  energetic, 
which  you  all  are  here.     1  like  him." 

"I  fancied  you  liked  the  eager  and  enthusiastic 
people,  and  that  you  felt  a  wann  interest  in  Don- 
ogan's  fate." 

"Yes,  I  do  hope  they'll  not  catch  him.  It 
would  be  too  horrid  to  think  of  any  one  we  had 
known  being  hanged!  And  then,  poor  fellow, 
he  was  very  much  in  love. " 

"Poor  fellow!"  sighed  out  Kate. 

"  Not  but  it  was  the  only  gleam  of  sunlight  in 
his  existence :  he  could  go  away  and  fancy  that, 
with  Heaven  knows  what  chances  of  fortune,  he 
might  have  won  me." 

"Poor  fellow!"  cried  Kate,  more  sorrowfully 
than  before. 

"  No,  far  from  it ;  but  very  '  happy  fellow,'  if 
he  could  feed  his  heart  with  such  a  delusion." 

"And  you  think  it  fair  to  let  him  have  this 
delusion  ?" 

"Of  course  I  do.  I'd  no  more  rob  him  of  it 
than  I'd  snatch  a  life-buoy  from  a  drowning  man. 
Do  you  fancy,  child,  that  the  swimmer  will  al- 
ways go  about  with  the  corks  that  have  saved 
his  life?"' 

"  These  mock  analogies  are  sorry  arguments," 
said  Kate. 

"Tell  me,  does  not  your  Austrian  sing?  I 
see  he  understands  music;  but  I  hope  he  can 
sing." 

"I  can  tell  you  next  to  nothing  of  my  Aus- 
trian^— if  he  must  be  called  so.  It  is  five  years 
since  we  met,  and  all  I  know  is  how  little  like 
he  seems  to  what  he  once  was." 

"I'm  sure  he  is  vastly  improved;  a  hundred 
times  better  mannered;  with  more  ease,  more 
quickness,  and  more  readiness  in  conversation. 
1  like  him." 

"  I  trust  he'll  find  out  his  great  good-fortune^ 
that  is,  if  it  be  not  a  delusion." 

For  a  few  seconds  there  was  a  silence — a  si- 
lence so  complete  that  Gorman  could  hear  the 
rustle  of  a  dress  as  Nina  moved  from  her  place, 
and  seated  herself  on  the  battlement  of  the  ter- 


l.OKI)   KlUJOBBIN. 


1 1:. 


race.  He  then  could  catch  the  low  murmuring 
Bounds  of  her  voice  as  she  hummed  an  air  to 

herself,  and  at  length  traced  it  to  be  the  Bong 
she  had  rang  that  same  evening  iii  the  drawing- 
room.  The  notes  came  gradually  more  and  more 

distinct,  the  tones  swelled  out  into  greater  full- 
ness, and  at  last,  with  one  long-SUStained  ca- 
dence of  thrilling  passion,  she  cried,  "  Non  mi 
EUnava— non  mi  amava!"  with  an  expression  of 
heart-breaking  sorrow,  the  last  syllables  seeming 
to  linger  on  the  lips  as  if  a  hope  was  deserting 
them    forever.  Oh,   non    mi    amava!"  cried 

she,  and  her  voice  tremhled  i\s  though  the 
avowal  of  her  despair  was  the  last  effort  of  her 
strength.  Slowly  and  faintly  the  sounds  died 
away,  while  Gorman,  leaning  out  to  the  utmost 
to  catch  the  dying  notes,  strained  his  hearing  to 
drink  them  in.  All  was  still,  and  then  suddenly, 
with  a  wild  roulade  that  sounded  at  first  like  the 
passage  of  a  musical  scale,  she  hurst  out  into  a 
lit  of  laughter,  crying  "  Non  mi  amava,"  through 
the  sounds,  in  a  half  frantic  mockery.  "  No, 
no — non  mi  amava,"  laughed  she  out  as  she 
walked  hack  into  the  room.  The  window  was 
now  closed  with  a  heavy  bang,  and  all  was  silent 
in  the  house. 

"And  these  are  the  affections  we  break  our 
hearts  for!"  cried  Gorman,  as  he  threw  himself 
on  his  bed,  and  covered  his  face  with  both  his 
hands. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

THE    HEAD    CONSTABLE. 

The  chief  constable,  or,  to  use  the  irreverent 
designation  of  the  neighborhood,  the  head  peel- 
er, who  had  carried  away  Walpole's  luggage  and 
papers,  no  sooner  discovered  the  grave  mistake 
lie  had  committed,  than  he  hastened  to  restore 
them,  and  was  waiting  personally  at  the  Castle 
to  apologize  for  the  blunder,  long  before  any  of 
the  family  had  come  down  stairs.  His  indiscre- 
tion might  cost  him  his  place,  and  Captain  Cur- 
tis, who  had  to  maintain  a  wife  and  family,  three 
saddle-horses,  and  a  green  uniform  with  more 
gold  on  it  than  a  field-marshal's,  felt  duly  anx- 
ious and  uneasy  for  what  he  had  done. 

'"Who  is  that  gone  down  the  road?"  asked 
he,  as  he  stood  at  the  window,  while  a  woman 
was  setting  the  room  in  order. 

"Sure  it's  .Miss  Kate  taking  the  dogs  out. 
I -n't  she  always  the  first  up  of  a  morning?" 
Though  the  captain  had  little  personal  acquaint- 
ance with  .Miss  Kearney,  he  knew  her  well  by 
reputation,  and  knew,  therefore,  that  he  might 
safely  approach  her  to  ask  a  favor.  He  over- 
took her  at  once,  and  in  a  few  words  made 
known  the  difficulty  in  which  he  found  himself. 

"Is  it  not,  after  all,  a  mere  passing  mistake 
which,  once  apologized  for.  is  forgotten  alto- 
gether?" asked  she.  " Mr.  Walpole  is  sorely 
not  a  person  to  bear  any  malice  for  such  an  in- 
cident.'' 

"I  don't  know  that.  Miss  Kearney,"  said  he, 
doubtingly.  "His papers  have  been  thoroughly 
an-acked,  and  old  Mr.  Flood,  the  Tory  magis- 
trate, has  taken  copies  of  several  biters  and 
documents,  all,  of  course,  under  the  impression 
that  they  formed  part  of  a  treasonable  corre- 
spondence." 

"Was  it  not  very  evident  that  the  papers 


could   not   have  belonged   to  a    Fenian   leader.' 
Was    not    any    mistake    in    the     matter    easily 

avoided  ?" 

"Not  at  once,  because  there  was,  first  of  all,  a 
sort  of  account  of  the  insurrectionary  movement 

lure,  with  a  number  of  queries,  such  as,  'Who 

[is  M ?'     'Are  F.  Y and  M'Causland 

i  the  same  person?'  'What  connection  exists  be 
tween  the  Meath  outrages  and  the  late  events  in 
Tipperary?'  'How  is  15 to  explain  his  con- 
duct sufficiently  to  be  retained  in  the  Commis- 
sion of  the  Peace?'  In  a  word,  Miss  Kearney, 
all  the  troublesome  details  by  which  a  ministry 
have  to  keep  their  own  supporters  in  decent  or- 
der are  here  hinted  at,  if  not  more,  and  it  lies 
with  a  batch  of  red-hot  Tories  to  make  a  ter- 
rible scandal  out  of  this  affair." 

"It  is  graver  than  1  suspected,"  said  she, 
thoughtfully. 

"And  I  may  lose  my  place,"  muttered  Curtis, 
"unless,  indeed,  you  would  condescend  to  say 
a  word  for  me  to  Mr. Walpole." 

"  Willingly,  if  it  were  of  any  use  ;  but  I  think 
my  cousin,  Mademoiselle  Kostalergi,  would  be 
likelier  of  success,  and  here  she  comes." 

Nina  came  forward  at  that  moment  with  that 
indolent  grace  of  movement  with  which  she 
swept  the  greensward  of  the  lawn  as  though  it 
were  the  carpet  of  a  saloon.  With  a  brief  in- 
troduction of  Mr.  Curtis,  her  cousin  Kate  in  a 
few  words  conveyed  the  embarrassment  of  his 
present  position,  and  his  hope  that  a  kindly  in- 
tercession might  avert  his  danger. 

"What  droll  people  you  must  be  not  to  find 
out  that  the  letters  of  a  viceroy's  secretary  could 
not  be  the  correspondence  of  a  rebel  leader ! " 
said  Nina,  superciliously. 

"I  have  already  told  Miss  Kearney  how  that 
'  fell  out,"  said  he;  "and  I  assure  you  there  was 
enough  in  those  papers  to  mystify  better  and 
clearer  heads. " 

"But  you  read  the  addresses,  and  saw  how 
J  the  letters  began,  'My  dear  Mr.  Walpole,'  or 
'  Dear  Walpole  ?'  " 

"And  thought  they  had  been  purloined.  Have 
I  not  found  '  Dear  Clarendon'  often  enough  in 
the  same  packet  with  cross-bones  and  a  coffin?" 

"  What  a  country!"  said  Nina,  with  a  sigh. 

"Very  like   Greece,  I    suppose,"  said    Kate. 

tartly;  then  suddenly,  "Will  you  undertake  to 

make  this  gentleman's  peace  with  Mr.  Walpole, 

and  show  how  the  w  hole  was  a  piece  of  ill-di- 

I  rected  zeal  ?" 

"  Indiscreet  zeal." 

•■  Well,  indiscreet,  if  you  like  it  better." 

"  And  you  fancied,  then,  that  all  the  fine  linen 
and  purple  you  carried  away  were  the  properties 
of  a  head-centre?" 

"  We  thought  so." 

"  And  the  silver  objects  of  the  dressing-table, 
and  the  ivory  inlaid  with  gold,  and  the  trifles 
studded  with  turquoise?" 

"They  might  have  been  Donogan's.  Do  you 
know,  mademoiselle,  that  this  same  Donogan 
was  a  man  of  fortune,  and  in  all  the  society  of 
the  first  men  at  Oxford  when — a  mere  DOy  a. 
the  time — he  became  a  rebel  ?" 

••  Mow  nice  of  him!      What  a  tine  fellow!" 

"I'd  say  what  a  fool,"  continued  Curtis. 
"He  had  no  need  to  risk  his  neck  to  achieve  a 
station;  the  thing  was  done  for  him.  He  had 
a  good  house  and  a  good  estate  in  Kilkenny  ;  I 


116 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


have  caught  salmon  in  the  river  that  washes  the 
foot  of  his  lawn." 

"  And  what  has  become  of  it  ?  Does  he  still 
own  it  ?" 

' '  Not  an  acre— not  a  rood  of  it ;  sold  every 
square  yard  of  it  to  throw  the  money  into  the 


"He  has  escaped,  has  he  not?"  asked  Nina. 

"We  hope  not — that  is,  we  know  that  he  is 
about  to  sail  for  St.  John's  by  a  clipper  now  in 
Belfast,  and  we  shall  have  a  fast  steam-corvette 
ready  to  catch  her  in  the  Channel.  He'll  be  un- 
der Yankee  colors,  it  is  true,  and  claim  an  Ameri- 


Fenian  treasury.  Rifled  artillery,  Colt's  revolv- 
ers, Remingtons,  and  Parrott  guns  have  walked 
off  with  the  broad  acres." 

"Fine  fellow — a  fine  fellow  !"  cried  Nina,  en- 
thusiastically. 

"That  fine  fellow  has  done  a  deal  of  mischief," 
said  Kate,  thoughtfully. 


can  citizenship;  but  we  must  run  risks  some- 
times, and  this  is  one  of  those  times." 

"  But  you  know  where  he  is  now  ?  Why  not 
apprehend  him  on  shore?" 

"The  very  thing  we  do  not  know,  mademoi- 
selle. I'd  rather  be  sure  of  it  than  have  five 
thousand  pounds  in  my  hand.     Some  say  he  is 


LORD  KILtiOBMN. 


here,  in  the  neighborhood;  some  say  he  is  gone 
south:  others  declare  that  he  has  reached  Lh- 

arpool.  All  we  really  do  know  is  about  the  Bhip 
that  he  means  to  sail  in.  and  on  which  the  sec- 
ond mate  has  informed  us." 

"And  all  your  boasted  activity  is  at  fault," 
said  she.  indolently,  "when  you  have  to  own 
you  can  not  track  him." 

"  Nor  is  it  so  easy,  mademoiselle,  where  a 
whole  population  befriend  and  feel  for  him." 

••  And  if  they  do,  with  what  face  can  you  per- 
secute what  has  the  entire  sympathy  of  a  na- 
tion r" 

••  1  )on't  provoke  answers  which  are  sure  not  to 
sati>fy  you,  and  which  you  could  but  half  com- 
prehend ;  but  tell  Mr.  Curtis  you  will  use  your 
influence  to  make  Mr.  "Walpole  forget  this  mis- 
hap." 

"But  I  do  want  to  go  to  the  bottom  of  this 
question.  I  will  insist  on  learning  why  people 
rebel  here." 

"  In  that  case,  1*11  go  home  to  breakfast,  and 
I'll  be  quite  satisfied  if  I  see  you  at  luncheon," 
said  Kate. 

"Do,  pray,  Mr.  Curtis,  tell  me  all  about  it. 
Why  do  si  une  people  shoot  the  others  who  are  just 
as  much  Irish  as  themselves?  Why  do  hungry 
people  kill  the  cattle  and  never  eat  tliem  ?  And 
why  don't  the  English  go  away  and  leave  a  coun- 
try where  nobody  likes  them  ?  If  there  be  a 
reason  for  these  things,  let  me  hear  it." 

"By-by,"  said  Kate,  waving  her  hand  as  she 
turned  away. 

'•  You  are  so  ungenerous,"  cried  Nina,  hurry- 
ing after  her.  "I  am  a  stranger,  and  would 
naturally  like  to  learn  all  that  I  could  of  the 
country  and  the  people :  here  is  a  gentleman  full 
of  the  very  knowledge  I  am  seeking.  lie  knows 
all  about  these  terrible  Fenians.  What  will 
they  do  with  Donogan  if  they  take  him?" 

"  Transport  him  for  life ;  they'll  not  hang  him, 
I  think." 

•'  That's  worse  than  hanging.  I  mean — that  is 
—  Miss  Kearney  would  rather  they'd  hang  him." 

"I  have  not  said  so,"  replied  Kate;  "and  I 
don't  suspect  I  think  so,  either." 

"Well,"  said  Nina,  after  a  pause,  "let  us  go 
back  to  breakfast.  You'll  see  Mr.  Walpole ; 
he's  Bare  to  be  down  by  that  time,  and  I'll  tell 
him  what  you  wish  is,  that  he  must  not  think 
any  more  of  the  incident;  that  it  was  a  piece  of 
official  stupidity,  done,  of  course,  out  of  the  best 
motives  ;  and  that  if  he  should  cut  a  ridiculous 
figure  at  the  end,  he  has  only  himself  to  blame 
for  the  worse  than  ambiguity  of  his  private  pa- 
pers." 

"I  do  not  know  that  I'd  exactly  say  that," 
said  Kate,  who  felt  some  difficulty  in  not  laugh- 
ing at  the  horror-struck  expression  of  Mr.  Cur- 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  say,  this  was  what  I  wished 
to  tell  you,  hut  my  cousin  Kate  interposed,  and 
suggested  that  a  little  adroit  Battery  of  you,  and 
some  small  coquetries  that  might  make  you  be- 
lieve you  were  charming,  would  be  the  readiest 
mode  to  make  you  forget  any  thing  disagreeable, 
and  she  would  charge  herself  with  the  task." 

"  Do  so," said  Kate,  calmly  ;  "and  let  us  now 
go  back  to  breakfast." 


('HAITI'.];   XLV. 
so  mi:    i  k  i  s  in:  i  i  9. 

That  which  the  English  irreverently  call 
"chaff"  enters  largely  as  an  clement  into  Irish 
life;  and  when  Walpole  Btigmatized  tin-  habit 
to  Joe  Atlee  as  essentially  that  of  the  small'  r 
island,  he  was  not  far  wrong.  I  will  not  say 
that  it  is  a  high  order  of  wit— very  elegant,  OT 
very  refined  ;  but  it  is  a  strong  incentive  to  good- 
humor — a  vent  to  good  spirits;  and.  being  a 
weapon  which  every  Irishman  can  wield  in  some 
fashion  or  other,  establishes  that  sort  of  joust 
which  prevailed  in  the  melee  tournaments,  and 
where  each  tilted  with  whom  he  pleased. 

Any  one  who  has  witnessed  the  progress  of  an 
Irish  trial,  even  when  the  crime  was  of  the  very- 
gravest,  can  not  fail  to  have  been  struck  by  the 
continual  clash  of  smart  remark  and  smarter  re- 
joinder between  the  bench  and  the  bar;  show- 
ing how  men  feel  the  necessity  of  ready-witted- 
ness,  and  a  promptitude  to  repel  attack,  in  which 
even  the  prisoner  in  the  dock  takes  bis  share, 
and  cuts  his  joke  at  the  most  critical  moment  of 
his  existence. 

The  Irish  theatre  always  exhibits  traits  of  this 
national  taste ;  but  a  dinner-party,  with  its  due 
infusion  of  barristers,  is  the  best  possible  exem- 
plification of  this  give  and  take,  which,  even  if  it 
had  no  higher  merit,  is  a  powerful  ally  of  good- 
humor,  and  the  sworn  foe  to  every  thing  like 
over-irritability  or  morbid  self-esteem.  Indeed 
I  could  not  wish  a  very  conceited  man,  of  a 
somewhat  grave  temperament  and  distant  de- 
meanor, a  much  heavier  punishment  than  a 
course  of  Irish  dinner-parties ;  for  even  though 
he  should  come  out  scathless  himself,  the  out- 
rages to  his  sense  of  propriety,  and  the  insults 
to  his  ideas  of  taste,  would  be  a  severe  suffer- 
ing. 

That  breakfast-table  at  Kilgobhin  had  some 
heavy  hearts  around  the  board.  There  was  not, 
with  the  exception  of  Walpole,  one  there  who 
had  not,  in  the  doubts  that  beset  his  future, 
grave  cause  for  anxiety  ;  and  yet  to  look  at,  still 
more  to  listen  to  them,  you  would  have  said  that 
Walpole  alone  had  any  load  of  care  upon  his 
heart,  and  that  the  others  were  a  light-hearted, 
happy  set  of  people,  with  whom  the  world  went 
always  well.  No  cloud  ! — not  even  a  shadow  to 
darken  the  road  before  them.  Of  this  levity — 
for  I  suppose  I  must  give  it  a  hard  name — the 
source  of  much  that  is  best  and  worst  among 
us,  our  English  rulers  take  no  account,,  and  are 
often  as  ready  to  charge  us  with  a  conviction, 
which  was  no  more  than  a  caprice,  as  they  are  to 
nail  us  down  to  some  determination,  which  was 
simply  a  drollery;  and  until  some  intelligent 
traveler  does  for  us  what  I  lately  perceived  a 
clevei  tourist  did  for  the  Japanese,  in  explaining 
their  modes  of  thought,  impulses,  and  passionsto 
tin'  English,  I  despair  of  our  being  better  known 
in  Downing  Street  than  we  now  are. 

Captain  Curtis — for  it  is  right  to  give  him  his 
rank — was  fearfully  nervous  and  uneasy,  ami 
though  he  tried  to  eat  his  breakfast  with  an  air 
of  unconcern  and  carelessness,  he  broke  his  egg 
with  a  tremulous  hand,  ami  listened  with  painful 
eagerness  every  time  Walpole  spoke. 

"I  wish  somebody  would  send  as  the  Stand- 
ard, when  it  is  known  that  the  Lord  Lieuten- 
ant's secretary  has  turned  Fenian,"  said  Kilgob- 


til 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


bin.  "Won't  there  be  a  grand  Tory  outcry 
over  the  unprincipled  Whigs  ?" 

"  The  papers  need  know  nothing  whatever  of 
the  incident,"  interposed  Curtis,  anxiously,  "if 
old  Flood  is  not  busy  enough  to  inform  them." 

"Who  is  old  Flood  ?"  asked  Walpole. 

"A  Tory  J.  P.,  who  has  copied  out  a  consid- 
erable share  of  your  correspondence,"  said  Kil- 
gobbin. 

"And  four  letters  in  a  lady's  hand,"  added 
Dick,  "that  he  imagines  to  be  a  treasonable 
correspondence  by  symbol." 

"I  hope  Mr.  Walpole,"  said  Kate,  "will 
rather  accept  felony  to  the  law  than  falsehood 
to  the  lady." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say — "  began  Walpole, 
angrily;  then,  correcting  his  irritable  manner, 
he  added,  "Am  I  to  suppose  my  letters  have 
been  read  ?" 

"Well,  roughly  looked  through,"  said  Curtis. 
"Just  a  glance  here  and  there  to  catch  what 
they  meant." 

"Which  I  must  say  was  quite  unnecessary," 
said  Walpole,  haughtily. 

"  It  was  a  sort  of  journal  of  yours,"  blundered 
out  Curtis,  who  had  a  most  unhappy  knack  of 
committing  himself,  "that  they  opened  first,  and 
they  saw  an  entry  with  Kilgobbin  Castle  at  the 
top  of  it,  and  the  date  last  July." 

"There  was  nothing  political  in  that,  I'm 
sure,"  said  Walpole. 

"No,  not  exactly,  but  a  trifle  rebellious  all 
the  same;  the  words  'We  this  evening  learned 
a  Fenian  song,  "The  time  to  begin,"  and  rather 
suspect  it  is  time  to  leave  off;  the  Greek  better- 
looking  than  ever,  and  more  dangerous.'" 

Curtis's  last  words  were  drowned  in  the  laugh 
that  now  shook  the  table ;  indeed,  except  Wal- 
pole and  Nina  herself,  they  actually  roared  with 
laughter,  which  burst  out  afresh,  as  Curtis,  in  his 
innocence,  said,  "  We  couldn't  make  out  about 
the  Greek,  but  we  hoped  we'd  find  out  later  on." 

"And  I  fervently  trust  you  did,"  said  Kilgob- 
bin. 

"I'm  afraid  not;  there  was  something  about 
somebody  called  Joe,  that  the  Greek  wouldn't 
have  him,  or  disliked  him,  or  snubbed  him — in- 
deed I  forget  the  words." 

"You  are  quite  right,  Sir,  to  distrust  your 
memory, "  said  Walpole ;  "it  has  betrayed  you 
most  egregiously  already." 

"On  the  contrary,"  burst  in  Kilgobbin,  "I 
am  delighted  with  this  proof  of  the  Captain's 
acuteness;  tell  us  something  more,  Curtis." 

"There  was  then  'From  the  upper  castle 
yard,  Maude,' whoever  Maude  is,  'says,  "Deny 
it  all,  and  say  you  never  were  there,"  not  so  easy 
as  she  thinks,  with  a  broken  right  arm,  and  a 
heart  not  quite  so  whole  as  it  ought  to  jjq.' " 

"There,  Sir — with  the  permission  of  my 
friends  here — I  will  ask  you  to  conclude  your 
reminiscences  of  my  private  papers,  which  can 
have  no  possible  interest  for  any  one  but  myself." 

"Quite  wrong  in  that,"  cried  Kilgobbin,  wip- 
ing his  eyes,  which  had  run  over  with  laughter. 
"There's  nothing  I'd  like  so  much  as  to  hear 
more  of  them." 

"  What  was  that  about  his  heart  ?"  whispered 
Curtis  to  Kate;  "was  he  wounded  in  the  side 
also  ?" 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  she,  dryly ;  "  but  I  believe 
he  has  got  (mite  over  it  by  this  time." 


"  Will  you  say  a  word  or  two  about  me,  Miss 
Kearney  ?"  whispered  he  again  ;  "I'm  not  sure 
I  improved  my  case  by  talking  so  freely ;  but  as 
I  saw  you  all  so  outspoken,  I  thought  I'd  fall  into 
your  ways." 

"  Captain  Curtis  is  much  concerned  for  any 
fault  he  may  have  committed  in  this  unhappy 
business,"  said  Kate;  "and  he  trusts  that  the 
agitation  and  excitement  of  the  Donogan  case 
will  excuse  him. " 

' '  That's  your  policy  now,"  interrupted  Kilgob- 
bin. "  Catch  the  Fenian  fellow,  and  nobody  will 
remember  the  other  incident." 

"We  mean  to  give  out  that  we  know  he  has 
got  clear  away  to  America,"  said  Curtis,  with  an 
air  of  intense  cunning.  "And  to  lull  his  sus- 
picions we  have  notices  in  print  to  say  that  no 
further  rewards  are  to  be  given  for  his  apprehen- 
sion, so  that  he'll  get  a  false  confidence,  and 
move  about  as  before." 

"With  such  acuteness  as  yours  on  his  trail, 
his  arrest  is  certain,"  said  Walpole,  gravely. 

"Well,  I  hope  so,  too,"  said  Curtis,  in  good 
faith  for  the  compliment.  "Didn't  I  take  up 
nine  men  for  the  search  of  arms  here,  though 
there  were  only  five?  One  of  them  turned  evi- 
dence," added  he,  gravely;  "he  was  the  fellow 
that  swore  Miss  Kearney  stood  between  you  and 
the  fire  after  they  wounded  you." 

"You  are  determined  to  make  Mr.  Walpole 
your  friend,"  whispered  Nina  in  his  ear  ;  "don't 
you  see,  Sir,  that  you  are  ruining  yourself?" 

"  I  have  been  puzzled  to  explain  how  it  was 
that  crime  went  unpunished  in  Ireland,"  said 
Walpole,  sententiously. 

"And  you  know  now?"  asked  Curtis. 

"  Yes ;  in  a  great  measure,  you  have  supplied 
me  with  the  information." 

"I  believe  it's  all  right  now,"  muttered  the 
Captain  to  Kate.  "  If  the  swell  owns  that  I  have 
put  him  up  to  a  thing  or  two,  he'll  not  throw  me 
over. " 

"Would  you  give  me  three  minutes  of  your 
time  ?"  whispered  Gorman  O'Shea  to  Lord  Kil- 
gobbin, as  they  arose  from  table. 

"  Half  an  hour,  my  boy,  or  more  if  you  want 
it.  Come  along  with  me  now  into  my  study, 
and  we'll  be  safe  there  from  all  interruption." 


CHAPTER  XLAT. 


SAGE    ADVICE. 


"  So  then  you  are  in  a  hobble  with  your  aunt," 
said  Mr.  Kearney,  as  he  believed  he  had  summed 
up  the  meaning  of  a  very  blundering  explanation 
by  Gorman  O'Shea ;   "isn't  that  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  Sir;  I  suppose  it  comes  to  that." 

"The  old  story,  I've  no  doubt,  if  we  only  knew 
it — as  old  as  the  patriarchs :  the  young  ones  go 
into  debt,  and  think  it  very  hard  that  the  elders 
dislike  the  paying  it." 

"  No.  no  ;  I  have  no  debts — at  least,  none  to 
speak  of." 

"It's  a  woman,  then?  Have  you  gone  and 
married  some  good-looking  girl,  with  no  fortune 
and  less  family  ?     Who  is  she  ?" 

"  Not  even  that,  Sir,"  said  he,  half  impatient 
at  seeing  how  little  attention  had  been  bestowed 
on  his  narrative. 

"Tis  bad  enough,  no  doubt,"  continued  the 


LORD  KlLtiOHHIN. 


Hit 


old  man,  still  in  pursuit  ofhifl  own  reflections; 
••not  bat  there's  scores  of  things  worse  :  for  it'  ■ 

man   is    a   good    fellow  at    heart,  he'll   treat   the 

woman  all  the  better  for  what  she  has  cost  him. 
That  is  «'iio  of  the  good  sides  of  selfishness  ;  and 

when  yon    have  lived  as  long  as  me,  Gorman, 

you'll  find  out  how  often  there's  something  good 
to  be  Bqneeaed  out  of  a  bad  quality,  just  as 
though  it  were  a  hit  of  our  nature  that  was  de- 
praved, hut  not  gone  to  the  devil  entirely. " 

••  There  is  no  woman  in  the  ease  here,  Sir," 
-aid  o'shea,  bluntly,  for  these  speculations  only 
irritated  him. 

••  Ho.  ho!  I  have  it  then,"  cried  the  old  man. 
"You've  been  burning  your  lingers  with  rebell- 
ion.     It's  the  Fenians  have  got  a  hold  of  you." 

•  •  Nothing  of  the  kind.  Sir.  1  f  you'll  just  read 
these  two  letters.  The  one  is  mine,  written  on 
the  morning  I  came  here:  here  is  my  aunt's. 
The  first  is  not  word  for  word  as  I  sent  it,  hut 
as  well  as  I  can  remember.  At  all  events,  it 
will  show  how  little  I  had  provoked  the  answer. 
There,  that's  the  document  that  came  along  with 
my  trunks,  and  I  have  never  heard  from  her 
since." 

"'Dear  Nephew,'"  —  read  out  the  old 
man,  after  patiently  adjusting  his  spectacles — 
••  •  ( (Shea's  Barn  is  not  an  inn' —  And  more's 
the  pity,"  added  he;  "  for  it  would  be  a  model 
house  of  entertainment.  You'd  say  any  one 
could  have  a  sirloin  of  beef  or  a  saddle  of  mut- 
ton ;  but  where  Miss  Betty  gets  hers  is  quite  be- 
yond me.  '  Nor  are  the  horses  at  public  livery,'  " 
read  he  out.  "  I  think  I  may  say,  if  they  were, 
that  Kattoo  won't  he  hired  out  again  to  the 
young  man  that  took  her  over  the  fences.  '  As 
you  seem  fond  of  warnings,' "  continued  he,  aloud 
—  •■  Ho,  ho  !  that's  at  you  for  coming  over  here 
to  tell  me  about  the  search-warrant;  and  she 
tells  you  to  mind  your  own  business  ;  and  droll 
enough  it  is.  We  always  fancy  we're  saying  an 
impertinence  to  a  man  when  we  tell  him  to  attend 
to  what  concerns  him  most.  It  shows,  at  least, 
that  we  think  meddling  a  luxury.  And  then  she 
add-,  '  Eilgohbin  is  welcome  to  you,'  and  I  can 
only  say  you  are  welcome  to  Kilgohhin — ay,  and 
in  her  own  words — 'with  such  regularity  and 
order  as  the  meals  succeed.' — 'All  the  luggage 
belonging  to  you,'  etc.,  and  '  I  am  very  respect- 
fully, your  Aunt.'  By  my  conscience,  there 
was  no  need  to  sign  it !  That  was  old  Miss  Het- 
ty all  the  world  over!"  and  he  laughed  till  bis 
in  over,  though  the  rueful  face  of  young 
O'Shea  was  -taring  at  him  all  the  time.  "  Don't 
look  so  gloomy,  O'Shea,"  cried  Kearney;  "I 
have  not  so  good  a  cook,  nor,  I'm  sorry  to  say, 
so  good  a  cellar,  as  at  the  Hani  ;  but  there 
are  young  face-,  and  young  voices,  and  young 
laughter,  and  a  light  step  on  the  stairs ;  and  if  I 
know  any  thing,  or  rather,  if  I  remember  any 
thing,  these  will  warm  a  heart  at  your  age  bet- 
ter than  'I  1  claret  or  the  crustiest  port  that  ever 
stained  a  decanter." 

•'I  am  turned  out,  Sir — sent  adrift  on  the 
world,"  said  the  young  man.  despondently. 

•"  And  it  is  not  so  bad  a  thing,  after  all,  take 
my  word  for  it.  hoy.  It'-  a  great  advantage  now 
and  then  to  begin  life  as  a  vagabond.  It  takes  a 
deal  of  snobbery  out  of  a  fellow  to  lie  under  a 
hay-stack,  and  there's  no  better  cure  for  preten- 
sion than  a  dinner  of  cold  potatoes.  Not  that  I 
say  you  need  the   treatment — far  from  it — but 


our  distinguished  friend  Mr.  Walpole  wouldn't 
he  a  bit  the  worse  of  such  an  alterative. " 

'•  If  I  am  left  without  a  shilling  in  the  world?" 

"You  must  try  what  you  can  d i  sixpence 

— the  whole  thing  is  how  you  begin.  I  used  not 
to  be  able  to  eat  my  dinner  when  I  did  DOt  Bed 
the  fellow  in  a  white  tie  standing  before  the  side- 
board, and  the  two  flunkies  in  plush  and  silk 
stockings  at  either  side  of  the  table  ;    and  when   1 

perceived  that  the  decanters  had  taken  their  de- 
parture, and  that  it  was  beer  I  was  given  to 
drink,  I  felt  as  if  I  bad  dined,  and  was  ready  to 
go  out  ami  have  a  smoke  in  the  open  air;  but  a 
little  time,  even  without  any  patience,  but  just 
time,  does  it  all." 

"Time  won't  teach  a  man  to  live  upon  nothing." 

"It  would  be  very  hard  for  him  if  it  did.  Let 
him  begin  by  having  few  wants,  and  work  hard 
to  supply  means  for  them." 

"Work  hard!  Why,  Sir,  if  I  labored  from 
daylight  to  dark  I'd  not  earn  the  wages  of  the 
humblest  peasant,  and  I'd  not  know  how  to  live 
on  it." 

"Well,  I  have  given  you  all  the  philosophy  in 
my  budget,  and,  to  tell  you  the  truth.  Gorman, 
except  so  far  as  coming  down  in  the  world  in 
spite  of  myself,  I  know  mighty  little  about  the 
fine  precepts  1  have  been  giving  you  ;  but  this  i 
know,  you  have  a  roof  over  your  head  here,  and 
you're  heartily  welcome  to  it;  and  who  knows 
but  your  aunt  may  come  to  terms  all  the  sooner 
because  she  sees  you  here  ?" 

"  You  are  very  generous  to  rne,  and  I  feel  it 
deeply,"  said  the  young  man  ;  but  he  was  almost 
choked  with  the  words. 

"You  have  told  me  already,  Gorman,  that 
your  aunt  gave  you  no  other  reason  against  com- 
ing here  than  that  I  had  not  been  to  call  on  you  ; 
and  I  believe  you — believe  you  thoroughly.  But 
tell  me  now,  with  the  same  frankness,  was  there 
nothing  passing  in  your  own  mind  ?  had  you 
no  suspicions  or  misgivings,  or  something  of  the 
same  kind,  to  keep  you  away?  Be  candid  with 
me  now,  and  speak  it  out  freely." 

'■  None,  on  my  honor.  I  was  sorely  grieved 
to  be  told  I  must  not  come,"  and  thought  very 
often  of  rebelling;  so  that,  indeed,  when  I  did 
rebel,  I  was  in  a  measure  prepared  for  the  penal- 
ty, though  scarcely  so  heavy  as  this." 

"  Don't  take  it  to  heart.  It  will  come  right 
yet.  Every  thing  comes  right  if  we  give  it  time  : 
and  there's  plenty  of  time  to  the  fellow  who  is 
not  live-and-tweiity.  It's  only  the  old  dogs, 
like  myself,  who  are  always  doing  their  match 
against  time,  are  in  a  hobble.  To  feel  that  ev- 
ery minute  of  the  clock  is  something  very  like 
three  weeks  of  the  almanac  Hurries  a  man  wheu 
he  wants  to  be  cool  and  collected.  Hut  your 
hat  on  a  peg,  and  make  your  home  here,  [f  you 
want  to  be  of  use,  Kitty  will  show  you  scores  of 
things  to  do  about  the  garden  ;  and  we  never  ob- 
ject t<>  see  a  brace  of  -nip.'  at  the  end  of  dinner, 
though  there's  nobody  cares  to  shoot  them  :  and 
the  bog  trout,  for  all  their  dark  color,  are  excel- 
lent eating,  and  I  know  you  can  throw  a  line. 
All  I  Bay  i-,  do  something,  and  - ething  that 

takes  you  into  the  open  air.  Don't  get  tO  lying 
about  in  easy-chairs   and   reading   novels:    don't 

get  to  singing  duet-  and  philandering  about  with 
the  girls.  May  I  never,  if  I'd  not  rather  find  a 
brandy -flask  in  your  pocket  than  Tennyson's 

poems  !" 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


CHAPTER  XL VII. 


REPROOF. 

"Sat  it  out  frankly,  Kate,"  cried  Nina,  as 
with  flashing  eyes  and  heightened  color  she  paced 
the  drawing-room  from  end  to  end  with  that 
bold,  sweeping  stride  which  in  moments  of  pas- 
sion betrayed  her.  "  8ay  it  out.  I  know  per- 
fectly what  you  are  hinting  at." 

' '  I  never  hint, "  said  the  other,  gravely ;  "  least 
of  all  with  those  I  love." 

"80  much  the  better.  I  detest  an  equivoque. 
If  I  am  to  be  shot,  let  me  look  the  fire  in  the 
face." 

"There  is  no  question  of  shooting  at  all.  I 
think  you  are  very  angry  for  nothing." 

"  Angry  for  nothing !  Do  you  call  that  stud- 
ied coldness  you  have  observed  toward  me  all 
day  yesterday  nothing?  Is  your  ceremonious 
manner — exquisitely  polite,  I  will  not  deny — is 
that  nothing  ?  Is  your  chilling  salute  when  we 
met — I  half  believe  you  courtesied — nothing? 
That  you  shun  me,  that  you  take  pains  not  to 
keep  my  company,  never  to  be  with  me  alone,  is 
past  denial." 

"And  I  do  not  deny  it,"  said  Kate,  with  a 
voice  of  calm  and  quiet  meaning. 

"At  last,  then,  I  have  the  avowal.  You  own 
that  you  love  me  no  longer. " 

"No,  I  own  nothing  of  the  kind  :  I  love  you 
very  dearly;  but  I  see  that  our  ideas  of  life  are 
so  totally  unlike,  that,  unless  one  should  bend 
and  conform  to  the  other,  we  can  not  blend  our 
thoughts  in  that  harmony  which  perfect  confi- 
dence requires.  You  are  so  much  above  me  in 
many  things,  so  much  more  cultivated  and  gift- 
ed— I  was  going  to  say  civilized,  and  I  believe  I 
might — " 

"Ta — ta  —  ta,"  cried  Nina,  impatiently. 
"These  flatteries  are  very  ill-timed." 

"  So  they  would  be,  if  they  were  flatteries ;  but 
if  you  had  patience  to  hear  me  out,  you'd  have 
learned  that  I  meant  a  higher  flattery  for  myself." 

"Don't  I  know  it?  don't  I  guess?"  cried  the 
Greek.  "Have  not  your  downcast  eyes  told  it ? 
and  that  look  of  sweet  humility  that  says,  '  At 
least  I  am  not  a  flirt  ?' " 

"Nor  am  I,"  said  Kate,  coldly. 

"And  I  am!  Come,  now,  do  confess.  You 
want  to  say  it." 

' '  With  all  my  heart  I  wish  you  were  not ! " 
And  Kate's  eyes  swam  as  she  spoke. 

"  And  what  if  I  tell  you  that  I  know  it — that 
in  the  very  employment  of  the  arts  of  what  you 
call  coquetry,  I  am  but  exercising  those  powers 
of  pleasing  by  which  men  are  led  to  frequent  the 
salon  instead  of  the  cafe',  and  like  the  society  of 
the  cultivated  and  refined  better  than — " 

"No,  no,  no!"  burst  in  Kate.  "There  is  no 
such  mock  principle  in  the  case.  Your  are  a 
flirt  because  you  like  the  homage  it  secures  you, 
and  because,  as  you  do  not  believe  in  such  a 
thing  as  an  honest  affection,  you  have  no  scruple 
about  trifling  with  a  man's  heart." 

"So  much  for  captivating  that  bold  hussar," 
cried  Nina. 

"  For  the  moment  I  was  not  thinking  of  him." 

"  Of  whom,  then  ?" 

"Of  that  poor  Captain  Curtis,  who  has  just 
ridden  away." 
"Oh,  indeed!" 
' '  Yes.     He  has  a  pretty  wife  and  three  nice 


little  girls,  and  they  are  the  happiest  people  in 
the  world.  They  love  each  other,  and  love  their 
home  —  so,  at  least,  I  am  told,  for  I  scarcely 
know  them  myself. " 

' '  And  what  have  I  done  with  him  f 

"Sent  him  away  sad  and  doubtful — very 
doubtful  if  the  happiness  he  believed  in  was  the 
real  article  after  all,  and  disposed  to  ask  himself 
how  it  was  that  his  heart  was  beating  in  a  new 
fashion,  and  that  some  new  sense  had  been  add- 
ed to  his  nature,  of  which  he  had  no  inkling  be- 
fore. Sent  him  away  with  the  notes  of  a  melody 
floating  through  his  brain,  so  that  the  merry 
laugh  of  his  children  will  be  a  discord,  and  such 
a  memory  of  a  soft  glance  that  his  wife's  bright 
look  will  be  meaningless." 

"  And  I  have  clone  all  this  ?    Poor  me !" 

"Yes,  and  done  it  so  often  that  it  leaves  no 
remorse  behind  it." 

"And  the  same,  I  suppose,  with  the  others?" 

"With  Mr.  Walpole,  and  Dick,  and  Mr. 
O'Shea,  and  Mr.  Atlee,  too,  when  he  was  here, 
in  their  several  ways." 

"Oh,  in  theirs ;  not  in  mine,  then ?" 

"I  am  but  a  bungler  in  my  explanation.  I 
wished  to  say  that  you  adapted"  your  fascinations 
to  the  tastes  of  each." 

"What  a  siren!" 

"Well,  yes — what  a  siren;  for  they're  all  iu 
love  in  some  fashion  or  other ;  but  I  could  have 
forgiven  you  these  had  you  spared  the  married 
man." 

"So  that  you  actually  envy  that  poor  prisoner 
the  gleam  of  light  and  the  breath  of  cold  air  that 
comes  between  his  prison  bars — that  one  moment 
of  ecstasy  that  reminds  him  how  he  once  was 
free  and  at  large,  and  no  manacles  to  weigh  him 
down  ?  You  will  not  let  him  even  touch  bliss  in 
imagination  ?  Are  you  not  more  cruel  than 
me  t" 

"This  is  mere  nonsense,"  said  Kate,  boldly. 
"You  either  believe  that  man  was  fooling  you, 
or  that  you  have  sent  him  away  unhappy ;  take 
which  one  of  these  you  like." 

"Can't  your  rustic  nature  see  that  there  is  a 
third  case,  quite  different  from  both,  and  that 
Harry  Curtis  went  off'  believing — " 

"  Was  he  Harry  Curtis  ?"  broke  in  Kate. 

"He  was  dear  Harry  when  I  said  good-by," 
said  Nina,  calmly. 

' '  Oh  !  then  I  give  up  every  thing ;  I  throw  up 
my  brief. " 

"  So  you  ought,  for  you  have  lost  your  cause 
long  ago." 

"Even  that  poor  Donogan  was  not  spared, 
and  Heaven  knows  he  had  troubles  enough  on 
his  head  to  have  pleaded  some  pity  for  him." 

"And  is  there  no  kind  word  to  sav  of  me, 
Kate  ?" 

"Oh,  Nina,  how  ashamed  you  make  me  of  my 
violence  when  I  dare  to  blame  you!  But  if  I 
did  not  love  you  so  dearly  I  could  better  bear 
you  should  have  a  fault." 

"I  have  only  one,  then?" 

"  I  know  of  no  great  one  but  this — I  mean,  I 
know  of  none  that  endangers  good-nature  and 
right  feeling." 

"And  are  you  so  sure  that  this  does?  Are 
you  so  sure  that  what  you  are  faulting  is  not  the 
manner  and  the  way  of  a  world  you  have  not 
seen  ?  that  all  these  levities,  as  you  would  call 
them,  are  not  the  ordinary  wear  of  people  whose 


LORD   KILCOIMIIX. 


IJI 


lives  are  passed  where  there  is  more  tolerance 
and  les>  rain  ?" 

"Be  serious.  Nina,  for  a  moment,  and  own 
that  it  was  by  intention  yon  were  in  the  approach 

when   Captain  Curtis  rode  away,  that  you  said 

something  to  him,  or  looked  something — per- 
haps both— on  which  begot  down  from  his  horse 

and  walked  heside  yon  for  full  a  mile." 

"  All  true."  said  Nina,  calmly.  "  I  confess  to 
even  pari  of  it." 

••I'd  far  rather  that  you  said  you  were  sorry 
for  it." 

••  I'.ut  I  am  not;  I'm  very  glad — I*m  very 
proud  of  it.  Yes,  look  as  reproachfully  as  you 
like.  Kate!  "very  proud'  was  what  1  said." 

"Then  I  am  indeed  sorry,"  said  Kate,  grow- 
ing pale  as  she  spoke. 

"I  don't  think,  after  all  this  sharp  lecturing 
of  me.  that  you  deserve  much  of  my  confidence ; 
and  if  I  make  you  any,  Kate,  it  is  not  by  way  of 
exculpation,  for  I  do  not  accept  your  blame.  It 
is  simply  out  of  caprice — mind  that,  and  that  I 
am  not  thinking  of  defending  myself." 

"  I  can  easily  believe  that,"  said  Kate,  dryly. 

And  the  other  continued :  "When  Captain 
Curtis  was  talking  to  your  father,  and  discussing 
the  chances  of  capturing  Donogan,  he  twice  or 
thrice  mentioned  Harper  and  Fry — names  which 
somehow  seemed  familiar  to  me  ;  and  on  think- 
ing the  matter  over  when  I  went  to  my  room, 
I  opened  Donogan 's  pocket-book  and  there  found 
how  these  names  had  become  known  to  me. 
Harper  and  Fry  were  tanners  in  Cork  Street, 
and  theirs  was  one  of  the  addresses  by  which, 
if  I  had  occasion  to  warn  Donogan,  I  could  write 
to  him.  On  hearing  these  names  from  Curtis,  it 
struck  me  that  there  might  be  treachery  some-  | 
where.  Was  it  that  these  men  themselves  had 
turned  traitor  to  the  cause?  or  had  another  be- 
trayed them  ?  Whichever  way  the  matter  went, 
Donogan  was  evidently  in  great  danger ;  for 
this  was  one  of  the  places  he  regarded  as  per- 
fectly safe. 

••  What  was  to  be  done?  I  dared  not  ask  ad- 
vice on  any  side.  To  reveal  the  suspicions  which 
were  tormenting  me  required  that  I  should  pro- 
duce this  pocket-book,  and  to  whom  could  I  im- 
part this  man's  secret?  I  thought  of  your  broth- 
er Dick,  but  he  was  from  home,  and  even  if  he 
had  not  been,  I  doubt  if  I  should  have  told  him. 
I  should  have  come  to  you,  Kate,  but  that  grand 
rebukeful  tone  you  had  taken  up  this  last  twen- 
ty-four hours  repelled  me;  and,  finally,  I  took 
counsel  with  myself.  I  set  off  just  before  Cap- 
tain ( 'urtis  started,  to  what  you  have  called  way- 
lay him  in  the  avenue. 

••.lust  below  the  beech-copse  he  came  up; 
and  then  that  small  flirtation  of  the  drawing- 
room,  which  has  caused  you  so  much  auger  and 
me  such  a  sharp  lesson,  stood  me  in  good  stead, 
and  enabled  me  to  arrest  his  progress  by  some 
chance  word  or  two,  and  at  last  so  far  to  interest 
him  that  he  got  down  and  walked  along  at  my 

side.  I  shall  not  shock  you  by  recalling  the  lit- 
tle tender  'nothings'  that  passed  between  us, 

nor  dwell  on  the  small  mockeries  of  sentiment 
which  we  exchanged  —  I  hope  very  harmlessly — 
but  proceed  at  once  to  what  I  felt  my  object. 
He  was  profuse  of  bis  gratitude  for  what  I  bad 
done  for  him  with  Walpole,  and  firmly  believed 
that  my  intercession  alone  had  saved  him;  ami 
so  I  went  on  to  say  that  the  best  reparation  he 


could  make  for  his  blunder  would  be  Bome  ex- 
ercise of  well-directed  activity  when  occasion 

should   oiler.      'Suppose,  for   instance.'  said    I, 

'yon  could  capture  this  man  Donogan  ?' 
"'The  very  thing  1  hope  to  do,'  cried  he. 

'The  train  is  laid  already.  One  of  my  con- 
stables has  a  brother  in  a  well-known  house  in 
Dublin,  the  members  of  which,  men  of  largo 
wealth  and  good  position,  have  long  been  sus- 
pected of  holding  intercourse  with  the  rebel8. 
Through  his  brother,  himself  a  Fenian,  this  man 
has  heard  that  a  secret  committee  will  meet  at 
this  place  on  Monday  evening  next,  at  which 
Donogan  will  be  present  Molloy,  another  head- 
centre,  will  also  be  there,  and  Cummins,  who 
escaped  from  Carrickfergus.'  I  took  down  all 
the  names,  Kate,  the  moment  we  parted,  and 
while  they  were  fresh  in  my  memory.  'We'll 
draw  the  net  on  them  all, 'said  he;  'and  such  a 
haul  has  not  been  made  since  '98.  The  rewards 
alone  will  amount  to  some  thousands.'  It  was 
then  I  said.  'And  is  there  no  danger,  Harry?'" 

"Oh,  Nina!" 

"  Yes,  darling,  it  was  very  dreadful,  and  I  felt 
it  so ;  but  somehow  one  is  carried  away  by  a 
burst  of  feeling  at  certain  moments,  and  the 
shame  only  comes  too  late.  Of  course  it  was 
wrong  of  me  to  call  him  Harry,  and  he,  too,  with 
a  wife  at  home,  and  five  little  girls — or  three,  I 
forget  which — should  never  have  sworn  that  he 
loved  me,  nor  said  all  that  mad  nonsense  about 
what  he  felt  in  that  region  where  chief  constables 
have  their  hearts ;  but  I  own  to  great  tenderness 
and  a  very  touching  sensibility  on  either  side. 
Indeed,  I  may  add  here,  that  the  really  sensitive 
natures  among  men  are  never  found  under  forty- 
five  ;  but  for  genuine,  uncalculating  affection,  for 
the  sort  of  devotion  that  Mings  consequences  to 
the  winds,  I'd  say,  give  me  fifty-eight  or  sixty." 

"  Nina,  do  not  make  me  hate  you,"  said  Kate, 
gravely. 

"Certainly  not,  dearest,  if  a  little  hypocrisy 
will  avert  such  a  misfortune.  And  so,  to  return 
to  my  narrative,  I  learned  as  accurately  as  a  gen- 
tleman so  much  in  love  could  condescend  to  in- 
form me,  of  all  the  steps  taken  to  secure  Donogan 
at  this  meeting,  or  to  capture  him  later  on  if  he 
should  try  to  make  his  escape  by  sea." 

"You  mean,  then,  to  write  to  Donogan  and 
apprise  him  of  his  danger  ?" 

"  It  is  done.  I  wrote  the  moment  I  got  back 
here.  I  addressed  him  as  Mr.  James  I'.redin, 
care  of  Jonas  Mullory,  Esq.,  II  New  Street, 
which  was  the  first  address  in  the  list  he  gave 
me.  I  told  him  of  the  peril  he  ran,  and  what  his 
friends  were  also  threatened  by,  and  1  recounted 
the  absurd  seizure  of  Mr.  Walpole's  effects  here ; 
and,  last  of  all,  what  a  dangerous  rival  he  had  in 
this  ( 'aptain  ( 'urtis,  who  was  ready  to  desert  wife, 
children,  and  the  constabulary  to-morrow  for 
me;  and  assuring  him  confidentially  that  I  was 
well  worth  greater  sacrifices  of  better  men,  I 
signed  my  initials  in  Creek  letters." 

"  Marvelous  caution  and  great  discretion," 
said  Kate,  solemnly. 

"And  now  come  over  to  the  drawing-room, 
where  I  have  promised  to  sing  fur  Mr.  O'Shea 

some  little  ballad  that  he  dreamed  Over  all  tin- 
night  through;  and  then  there's  something  else 
—what  is  it?  what  is  it  ?" 

'•  How  should  1  know,  Nina?  I  was  not  pres- 
ent at  your  arrangement." 


122 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"Just  so,  Kate — sensibilities  permitting ;  and, 
indeed,"  she  said,  "I  remember  it  already.  It 
was  luncheon." 


INHtWi 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

HOW   MEN    IN    OFFICE    MAKE    LOVE. 

"Is  it  true  they  have  captured  Donogan?" 
said  Nina,  coming  hurriedly  into  the  library, 
where  Walpole  was  busily  engaged  with  his  cor- 
respondence, and  sat  before  a  table  covered  not 
only  with  official  documents,  but  a  number  of 
printed  placards  and  handbills. 

He  looked  up,  surprised  at  her  presence,  and 
by  the  tone  of  familiarity  in  her  question,  for 
which  he  was  in  no  way  prepared,  and  for  a  sec- 
ond or  two  actually  stared  at  without  answering 
her. 

"Can't  you  tell  me?  Are  they  correct  in 
saying  he  has  been  caught  ?"  cried  she,  impa- 
tiently. 

"  Very  far  from  it.  There  are  the  police  re- 
turns up  to  last  night  from  Meath,  Kildare,  and 
Dublin  ;  and  though  he  was  seen  at  Naas,  pass- 
ed some  hours  in  Dublin,  and  actually  attended 
a  night  meeting  at  Kells,  all  trace  of  him  has 
been  since  lost,  and  he  has  completely  baffled  us. 
By  the  Viceroy's  orders  I  am  now  doubling  the 
reward  for  his  apprehension,  and  am  prepared 
to  offer  a  free  pardon  to  any  who  shall  give  in- 
formation about  him  who  may  not  actually  have 
committed  a  felony." 

"Is  he  so  very  dangerous,  then?" 

"Every  man  who  is  so  daring  is  dangerous 
here.  The  people  have  a  sort  of  idolatry  for 
reckless  courage.  It  is  not  only  that  he  has 
ventured  to  come  back  to  the  country  where  his 
life  is  sacrificed  to  the  law,  but  he  declares  open- 
ly he  is  ready  to  offer  himself  as  a  representative 
for  an  Irish  county,  and  to  test  in  his  own  per- 
son whether  the  English  will  have  the  temerity 
to  touch  the  man — the  choice  of  the  Irish  people. " 

"  He  is  bold,"  said  she,  resolutely. 

"And  I  trust  he  will   pay  for   his  boldness! 


Our  law  officers  are  prepared  to  treat  him  as  a 
felon,  irrespective  of  all  claim  to  his  character  as 
a  member  of  Parliament." 

"The  danger  will  not  deter  him." 

"You  think  so?" 

"I  know  it,"  was  the  calm  reply. 

"Indeed!"  said  he,  bending  a  steady  look  at 
her.  "  What  opportunities,  might  I  ask,  have 
you  had  to  form  this  same  opinion  ?" 

"Are  not  the  public  papers  full  of  him? 
Have  we  not  an  almost  daily  record  of  his  ex- 
ploits ?  Do  not  your  own  rewards  for  his  cap- 
ture impart  an  almost  fabulous  value  to  his  life  ?" 

"His  portrait,  too,  may  lend  some  interest  to 
his  story,"  said  he,  with  a  half-sneering  smile. 
"  They  say  this  is  very  like  him."  And  he  hand- 
ed a  photograph  as  he  spoke. 

"  This  was  done  in  New  York,"  said  she,  turn- 
ing to  the  back  of  the  card,  the  better  to  hide  an 
emotion  she  could  not  entirely  repress. 

"  Yes,  done  by  a  brother  Fenian  long  since  in 
our  pay. " 

"  How  base  all  that  sounds !  How  I  detest 
such  treachery!" 

"How  deal  with  treason  without  it?  Is  it 
like  him  ?"  asked  he,  artlessly. 

"  How  should  I  know  ?"  said  she,  in  a  slightly 
hurried  tone.  "  It  is  not  like  the  portrait  in  the 
Illustrated  Neu-s. " 

"  I  wonder  which  is  the  more  like,"  added  he, 
thoughtfully,  "and  I  fervently  hope  we  shall 
soon  know.  There  is  not  a  man  he  confides  in 
who  has  not  engaged  to  betray  him." 

"I  trust  you  feel  proud  of  your  achievement." 

"No,  not  proud,  but  very  anxious  for  its  suc- 
cess. The  perils  of  this  country  are  too  great 
for  mere  sensibilities.  He  who  would  extirpate 
a  terrible  disease  must  not  fear  the  knife." 

"  Not  if  he  even  kill  the  patient  ?"  asked  she. 

"  That  might  happen,  and  would  be  to  be  de- 
plored," said  he,  in  the  same  unmoved  tone. 
"  But  might  I  ask  whence  has  come  all  this  in- 
terest for  this  cause,  and  how  have  you  learned 
so  much  sympathy  with  these  people?" 

"  I  read  the  newspapers,"  said  she,  dryly. 

"You  must  read  those  of  only  one  color, 
then,"  said  he,  slyly ;  "or  perhaps  it  is  the  tone 
of  comment  you  hear  about  you.  Are  your  sen- 
timents such  as  you  daily  listen  to  from  Lord 
Kilgobbin  and  his  family?" 

"  I  don't  know  that  they  are.  I  suspect  I'm 
more  of  a  rebel  than  he  is  ;  but  I'll  ask  him,  if 
you  wish  it." 

"On  no  account,  I  entreat  you.  It  would 
compromise  me  seriously  to  hear  such  a  discus- 
sion, even  in  jest.  Remember  who  I  am,  mad- 
emoiselle, and  the  office  I  hold." 

"Your  great  frankness,  Mr.  Walpole,  makes 
me  sometimes  forget  both,"  said  she,  with  well- 
acted  humility. 

"I  wish  it  would  do  something  more,"  said 
he,  eagerly.  "I  wish  it  would  inspire  a  little 
emulation,  and  make  you  deal  as  openly  with 
me  as  I  long  to  do  with  you. " 

"It  might  embarrass  you  very  much,  per- 
haps." 

"  As  how?"  asked  he,  with  a  touch  of  tender- 
ness in  his  voice. 

For  a  second  or  two  she  made  no  answer,  and 
then,  faltering  at  each  word,  she  said,  "What 
if  some  rebel  leader — this  man  Donogan,  for  in- 
stance— drawn  toward  you  by  some  secret  magic 


LORD  EH.GOBB1N. 


123 


of  trustfulness — moved  by  I  know  not  what  need 

of  TOUT  sympathy — for  there  is  such  a  craving 

void  now  and  then  felt  in  the  heart  — should  tell 
you  some  seeret  thought  of  Ins  nature — some- 
thing that  heconld  otter  alone  to  himself,  wonld 
you  bring  yourself  to  use  it  against  111111?  Could 
you  turn  round  and  say,  '  1  have  your  inmost 
soul  in  my  keeping.  You  are  mine  now — mine 
— mine? 

"Do  I  understand  you  aright?"  said  he,  ear- 
nestly. "Is  it  just  possible,  even  possible,  that 
ymi  have  that  to  confide  to  me  which  would 
show  that  you  regard  me  as  a  dear  friend?" 

•M)h,  Mr.  Walpole!"  hurst  she  out,  passion- 
ately, "  do  not  by  the  great  power  of  your  intel- 
lect seek  the  mastery  over  mine.  Let  the  lone- 
liness and  isolation  of  my  life  here  rather  appeal 
to  you  to  pity,  than  BUggest  the  thought  of  influ- 
encing and  dominating  me." 

••  Would  that  I  might.  What  would  I  not  give 
or  do  to  have  that  power  that  you  speak  of?" 

"Is  this  true?"  said  she. 

"It  is." 

"  Will  you  swear  it?" 

"Most  solemnly." 

She  paused  for  a  moment,  and  a  slight  tremor 
shook  her  mouth ;  but  whether  the  motion  ex- 
pressed a  sentiment  of  acute  pain  or  a  movement 
of  repressed  sarcasm,  it  was  very  difficult  to  de- 
termine. 

"What  is  it,  then,  that  you  would  swear?" 
asked  she,  calmly,  and  even  coldly. 

"Swear  that  I  have  no  hope  so  high,  no  am- 
bition so  great,  as  to  win  your  heart." 

"Indeed!  And  that  other  heart  that  you 
have  wtin.  what  is  to  become  of  it?" 

"  Its  owner  has  recalled  it.  In  fact,  it  was 
never  in  my  keeping  but  as  a  loan." 

"  How  Btrange !  At  least,  how  strange  to  me 
this  sounds.  I,  in  my  ignorance,  thought  that 
people  pledged  their  very  lives  in  these  bargains." 

"So  it  ought  to  be,  and  so  it  would  be,  if  this 
world  were  not  a  web  of  petty  interests  and  mean 
ambitions:  and  these,  I  grieve  to  say,  will  find 
their  way  into  hearts  that  should  be  the  home  of 
very  different  sentiments.  It  was  of  this  order 
was  that  compact  with  my  cousin — for  I  will 
speak  openly  to  you,  knowing  it  is  her  to  whom 
you  allude.  We  were  to  have  been  married.  It 
was  an  old  engagement.  Our  friends — that  is,  I 
believe,  the  way  to  call  them— liked  it.  They 
thought  it  a  good  thing  for  each  of  us.  Indeed, 
making  the  dependents  of  a  good  family  inter- 
marry is  an  economy  of  patronage — the  same 
plank  rescues  two  from  drowning.  I  believe — 
that  is,  I  fear — we  accepted  all  this  in  the  same 
spirit.  We  were  to  love  each  other  as  much  as 
we  could,  and  our  relations  were  to  do  their  best 
for  as." 

"And  now  it  is  all  over?" 

"  All — and  forever." 

"  How  came  this  about?" 

"At  first  by  a  jealousy  about  you." 

"A  jealousy  about  met  You  surely  never 
dared — "and  here  her  voice  trembled  with  real 
passion,  while  her  eyes  Bashed  angrily. 

"  No.  no — I  am  guiltless  in  the  matter.  It 
was  that  cur  Atlee  made  the  mischief.  In  a 
moment  of  weak  trustfulness.  I  sent  him  over  to 
Wale-  to  assist  my  ancle  in  his  correspondence, 

lie.  of  course,  got  to  know  Lady  .Maude  Bicker- 
staffe.      By  what  arts  he  ingratiated  himself  into 


her  confidence  I  can  not  say.  Indeed,  I  had 
trusted  thai  the  fellow's  vulgarity  would  form  an 
impassable   barrier    between    them,  and    prevent 

all   intimacy;    but,  apparently,  1    was   wrong. 

lie  seems  to  have  been  the  companion  of  her 
rides  and  drives,  and,  under  the  pretext  of  doing 
some  commissions  for  her  in  the  bazars  of  Con- 
stantinople, he  got  fo  correspond  with  her.  So 
artful  a  fellow  would  well  know  what  to  make  of 
such  a  privilege." 

"And  is  be  your  successor  now?"  asked  she, 
with  a  look  of  almost  undisguised  insolence. 

"Scarcely  that,"  said  he,  with  a  supercilious 
smile.  "I-  think,  if  you  had  ever  seen  my 
cousin,  you  would  scarcely  have  asked  the  ques- 
tion." 

"  But  I  have  seen  her.  I  saw  her  at  the  Odes- 
calchi  Palace  at  Home.  I  remember  the  stare 
she  was  pleased  to  bestow  on  me  as  Bhe  swepf 
past  me.  I  remember  more — her  words  as  she 
asked,  '  Is  this  your  Titian  girl  I  have  heard  so 
much  of?' " 

"And  may  hear  more  of,"  muttered  he,  al- 
most unconsciously. 

"Yes,  even  that,  too  ;  but  not,  perhaps,  in  the 
sense  you  mean."  Then,  as  if  correcting  her- 
self, she  went  on,  "It  was  a  bold  ambition  of 
Mr.  Atlee's.  I  must  say  I  like  the  very  daring 
of  it." 

"He  never  dared  it,  take  my  word  for  it." 

An  insolent  laugh  was  her  first  reply.  "  How 
little  you  men  know  of  each  other,  and  how  less 
than  little  you  know  of  us !  You  sneer  at  the 
people  who  are  moved  by  sudden  impulse,  but 
you  forget  it  is  the  squall  upsets  the  boat." 

"  I  believe  I  can  follow  what  you  mean.  You 
would  imply  that  my  cousin's  breach  with  me 
might  have  impelled  her  to  listen  to  Atlee  ?" 

"Not  so  much  that  as,  by  establishing  him- 
self as  her  confidant,  he  got  the  key  of  her  heart, 
and  let  himself  in  as  he  pleased." 

"I  suspect  he  found  little  to  interest  him 
there. " 

"The  insufferable  insolence  of  that  speech! 
Can  you  men  never  be  brought  to  see  that  we 
are  not  all  alike  to  each  of  you ;  that  our  na- 
tures have  their  separate  watch-words ;  ami  that 
the  soul  which  would  vibrate  with  tenderness  to 
this,  is  to  that  a  dead  and  senseless  thing,  with 
no  trace  or  touch  of  feeling  about  it?" 

"  I  only  believe  this  in  part." 

"  Believe  it  wholly,  then,  or  own  that  you 
know  nothing  of  love — no  more  than  do  those 
countless  thousands  who  go  through  life  and 
never  taste  its  real  ecstasy  nor  its  real  sorrow ; 
who  accept  convenience,  or  caprice,  or  flattered 
vanity  as  its  counterfeit,  and  live  out  the  delu- 
sion in  lives  of  discontent.  You  have  done 
wrong  to  break  with  your  cousin.  It  is  clear  to 
me  yon  suited  each  other." 

"This  is  sarcasm." 

"If  it  is,  I  am  sorry  for  it.  I  meant  it  for 
sincerity.  In  //'""•.  career  ambition  is  every 
thing.  The  woman  thai  could  aid  you  OH  your 
road  would  be  the  real  helpmate.  She  who 
would  simply  en.ss  your  path  by  her  sympathies 
or  her  affections  would  be  a  mere  embarrass 

incut.  Take  the  \ery  case  before  US.  Would 
1  not  Lady  Maude  point  out  to  you  how,  by  the 
capture   of   this   rebel,   you   might    so    aid  your 

friends  as  to  establish  a  claim  for  recompense? 
Would  she  not  impress  you  with  the  necessity 


124 


LOKD  KILGOBBIN. 


of  showing  how  your  activity  redounded  to  the 
credit  of  your  party  ?  She  would  neither  inter- 
pose with  ill-timed  appeals  to  your  pity  or  a  mis- 
placed sympathy.  She  would  help  the  politician, 
while  another  might  hamper  the  man." 

"  All  that  might  be  true,  if  the  game  of  polit- 
ical life  were  played  as  it  seems  to  be  on  the  sur- 
face, and  my  cousin  was  exactly  the  sort  of 
woman  to  use  ordinary  faculties  with  ability  and 
acuteness ;  but  there  are  scores  of  things  in 
which  her  interference  would  have  been  hurtful, 
and  her  secrecy  dubious.  I  will  give  you  an  in- 
stance, and  it  will  serve  to  show  my  implicit 
confidence  in  yourself.  Now  with  respect  to 
this  man,  Donogan,  there  is  nothing  we  wish 
less  than  to  take  him.  To  capture  means  to  try 
— to  try  means  to  hang  him — and  how  much 
better,  or  safer,  or  stronger  are  we  when  it  is 
done  ?  These  fellows,  right  or  wrong,  represent 
opinions  that  are  never  controverted  by  the  scaf- 
fold, and  every  man  who  dies  for  his  convictions 
leaves  a  thousand  disciples  who  never  believed 
in  him  before.  It  is  only  because  he  braves  us 
that  we  pursue  him,  and  in  the  face  of  our  op- 
ponents and  Parliament  we  can  not  do  less.  So 
that  while  we  are  offering  large  rewards  for  his 
apprehension,  we  would  willingly  give  double 
the  sum  to  know  he  had  escaped.  Talk  of  the 
supremacy  of  the  law — the  more  you  assert  that 
here,  the  more  ungovernable  is  this  country  by 
a  party.  An  active  attorney-general  is  another 
word  for  three  more  regiments  in  Ireland."' 

' '  I  follow  you  with  some  difficulty  ;  but  I  see 
that  you  would  like  this  man  to  get  away,  and 
how  is  that  to  be  done  ?" 

"Easily  enough,  when  once  he  knows  that  it 
will  be  safe  for  him  to  go  north.  He  naturally 
fears  the  Orangemen  of  the  northern  counties. 
They  will,  however,  do  nothing  without  the 
police,  and  the  police  have  got  their  orders 
throughout  Antrim  and  Deny.  Here — on  this 
strip  of  paper — here  are  the  secret  instructions : 
'To  George  Dargan,  Chief  Constable,  Letter- 
kenny  district.  Private  and  confidential. — It 
is,  for  many  reasons,  expedient  that  the  convict 
Donogan,  on  a  proper  understanding  that  he 
will  not  return  to  Ireland,  should  be  suffered  to 
escape.  If  you  are,  therefore,  in  a  position  to 
extort  a  pledge  from  him  to  this  extent — and  it 
should  be  explicit  and  beyond  all  cavil  —  you 
will,  taking  due  care  not  to  compromise  your 
authority  in  your  office,  aid  him  to  leave  the 
country,  even  to  the  extent  of  moneyed  assist- 
ance.' To  this  are  appended  directions  how 
he  is  to  proceed  to  carry  out  these  instruc- 
tions ;  what  he  may,  and  what  he  may  not  do ; 
with  whom  he  may  seek  for  co-operation,  and 
where  he  is  to  maintain  a  guarded  and  careful 
secrecy.  Now,  in  telling  you  all  this,  Made- 
moiselle Ivostalergi,  I  have  given  you  the  stron- 
gest assurance  in  my  power  of  the  unlimited  trust 
I  have  in  you.  I  see  how  the  questions  that 
agitate  this  country  interest  you.  I  read  the 
eagerness  with  which  you  watch  them ;  but  I 
want  you  to  see  more.  I  want  you  to  see  that 
the  men  who  purpose  to  themselves  the  great 
task  of  extricating  Ireland  from  her  difficulties 
must  be  politicians  in  the  highest  sense  of  the 
word,  and  that  you  should  see  in  us  statesmen 
of  an  order  that  can  weigh  human  passions  and 
human  emotions,  and  see  that  hope  and  fear  and 
terror  and  gratitude  sway  the  hearts  of  men  who, 


to  less  observant  eyes,  seem  to  have  no  place  in 
their  natures  but  for  rebellion.  That  this  mode 
of  governing  Ireland  is  the  one  charm  to  the 
Celtic  heart,  all  the  Tory  rule  of  the  last  fifty 
years,  with  its  hangings  and  banishments  and 
other  terrible  blunders,  will  soon  convince  you. 
The  priest  alone  has  felt  the  pulse  of  this  people, 
and  we  are  the  only  ministers  of  England  who 
have  taken  the  priest  into  our  confidence.  I 
own  to  you  I  claim  some  credit  for  myself  in 
this  discovery.  It  was  in  long  reflecting  over 
the  ills  of  Ireland  that  I  came  to  see  that  where 
the  malady  has  so  much  in  its  nature  that  is  sen- 
sational and  emotional,  so  must  the  remedy  be 
sensational  too.  The  Tories  were  ever  bent  on 
extirpating  —  we  devote  ourselves  to  '  healing 
measures.'     Do  you  follow  me?" 

"I  do,"  said  she,  thoughtfully.- 

"Do  1  interest  you?"  asked  he,  more  ten- 
derly. 

"Intensely,"  was  the  reply. 

"Oh,  if  I  could  but  think  that !  If  I  could 
but  bring  myself  to  believe  that  the  day  would 
come,  not  only  to  secure  your  interest,  but  your 
aid  and  your  assistance  in  this  great  Task!  I 
have  long  sought  the  opportunity  to  tell  you  that 
we,  who  hold  the  destinies  of  the  people  in  our 
keeping,  are  not  inferior  to  our  great  trust,  that 
we  are  not  mere  creatures  of  a  state  department, 
small  deities  of  the  Olympus  of  office,  but  act- 
ual statesmen  and  rulers.  Fortune  has  given 
me  the  wished-for  moment ;  let  it  complete  my 
happiness ;  let  it  tell  me  that  you  see  in  this 
noble  work  one  worthy  of  your  genius  and  your 
generosity,  and  that  you  would  accept  me  as  a 
fellow-laborer  in  the  cause." 

The  fervor  which  he  threw  into  the  utterance 
of  these  words  contrasted  strongly  and  strangely 
with  the  words  themselves ;  so  unlike  the  decla- 
ration of  a  lover's  passion. 

"  I  do — not — know,"  said  she,  falteringly. 

"What  is  that  you  do  not  know?"  asked  he, 
with  tender  eagerness. 

"I  do  not  know  if  I  understand  you  aright, 
and  I  do  not  know  what  answer  I  should  give 
you." 

"  Will  not  your  heart  tell  you?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"You  will  not  crush  me  with  the  thought  that 
there  is  no  pleading  for  me  there." 

"If  you  had  desired  in  honesty  my  regard  you 
should  not  have  prejudiced  me  ;  you  began  here 
by  enlisting  my  sympathies  in  your  Task ;  you 
told  me  of  your  ambitions.  I  like  these  ambi- 
tions." 

"Why  not  share  them?"  cried  he,  passionately. 

"  You  seem  to  forget  what  you  ask.  A  wom- 
an does  not  give  her  heart  as  a  man  joins  a  party 
or  an  administration.  It  is  no  question  of  an  ad- 
vantage based  upon  a  compromise.  There  is  no 
sentiment  of  gratitude,  or  recompense,  or  reward 
in  the  gift.  She  simply  gives  that  which  is  no 
longer  hers  to  retain !  She  trusts  to  what  her 
mind  will  not  stop  to  question — she  goes  where 
she  can  not  help  but  follow." 

"  How  immeasurably  greater  your  every  word 
makes  the  prize  of  your  love." 

"It  is  in  no  vanity  that  I  say,  I  know  it," 
said  she,  calmly.  "Let  us  speak  no  more  on 
this  now." 

"But  you  will  not  refuse  to  listen  to  me, 
Nina?" 


lokd  kilgohbin. 


125 


"  I  will  read  you  if  you  write  to  me  ;"  ami  with 
a  wave  Ofgood-Dy  she  slowly  left  the  room. 

"  She  is  my  master,  even  at  my  own  game," 
said    Walpole,    as  he  sat  down,   and  rested   his 

head  between  his  hands.  "Still,  she  is  mis- 
taken :  I  Can  write  just  as  vaguely  as  I  can 
speak  :  and  if  I  eould  not,  it  would  have  cost 
me  mv  freedom  this  many  a  day.  With  such  a 
woman  one  might  venture  high,  but  Heaven  help 
him  when  he  ceased  to  climb  the  mountain !" 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 


A    CUP    OF    TEA. 


It  was  so  rare  an  event  of  late  for  Nina  to 
seek  her  cousin  in  her  own  room,  that  Kate  was 
somewhat  surprised  to  see  Nina  enter  with  all 
her  old  ease  of  manner,  and,  flinging  away  her 
hat  carelessly,  say.  "Let  me  have  a  cup  of  tea, 
dearest,  for  I  want  to  have  a  clear  head  and  a 
calm  mind  for  at  least  the  next  half  hour." 

"It  is  almost  time  to  dress  for  dinner,  espe- 
cially for  you.  Nina,  who  make  a  careful  toilet." 

"Perhaps  I  shall  make  less  to-day.  perhaps 
not  go  down  to  dinner  at  all.  Do  you  know, 
child,  I  have  every  reason  for  agitation,  and 
maiden  bashfulness  besides?  Do  you  know  I 
have  had  a  proposal — a  proposal  in  all  form — 
from — but  you  shall  guess  whom." 

".Mr.  O'Shea,  of  course." 

"  No,  not  Mr.  O'Shea,  though  I  am  almost 
prepared  for  such  a  step  on  his  part— nor  from 
your  brother  Dick,  who  has  been  falling  in  and 
out  of  love  with  me  for  the  last  three  months  or 
more.  My  present  conquest  is  the  supremely 
arrogant,  but  now  condescending,  Mr.  Walpole, 
who,  for  reasons  of  state  and  exigences  of  party, 
has  been  led  to  believe  that  a  pretty  wife,  with  a 
certain  amount  of  natural  astuteness,  might  ad- 
vance his  interests,  and  tend  to  his  promotion  in 
public  life  ;  and  with  his  old  instincts  as  a  gam- 
bler, he  is  actually  ready  to  risk  his  fortunes  on 
a  single  card  ;  and  I,  the  portionless  Greek  girl, 
with  about  the  same  advantages  of  family  as  of 
fortune — I  am  to  be  that  queen  of  trumps  on 
which  he  stands  to  win.  And  now,  darling,  the 
cup  of  tea,  the  cup  of  tea,  if  you  want  to  hear 
more." 

While  Kate  was  busy  arranging  the  cups  of  a 
little  tea-service  that  did  duty  in  her  dressing- 
room,  Nina  walked  impatiently  to  and  fro,  talk- 
ing with  rapidity  all  the  time. 

"The  man  is  a  greater  fool  than  I  thought 
him,  and  mistakes  his  native  weakness  of  mind 
for  originality.  If  you  had  heard  the  imbecile 
nonsense  he  talked  to  me  for  political  shrewd- 
neSS,  and  when  he  had  shown  me  what  a  very 
poor  creature  he  was,  he  made  me  the  oiler  of 
liim-elf!  This  was  BO  far  honest  and  above- 
board.  It  was  Baying,  in  BO  many  word-,  '  Von 
see,  I  am  a  bankrupt.'  Now  I  don't  like  bank- 
rupts, cither  of  mind  or  money.  Could  he  not 
have  seen  that  he  who  seeks  my  favor  must  sue 
in  another  fashion?" 

••  And  so  you  refused  him  ?"  said  Kate,  as  she 
poured  out  her  tea. 

"'  Far  from  it — I  rather  listened  to  his  suit.  I 
was  so  far  curious  to  hear  what  he  could  plead  in 
his  behalf  that  I  bade  him  write  it.  Yes,  dear- 
est ,  it  was  a  maxim  of  that  very  acute  man,  my 


papa.  that,  when  a  person  makes  you  any  dubious 

proposition  in  words,  you  oblige  him  to  commit 

it  to  writing.  Not  necessarily  to  lie  used  against 
him  afterward,  but  for  this  rea-ou-  and  I  can  al- 
most quote  my  papa's  phra-e  on  tl CCUfflOU — in 

the  homage  Of  liis  self  love,  a  man   will   rarely 

write  himself  such  a  knave  as  he  will  dare  to  own 

when  he  is  talking,  and  in  that  act  of  weakness 
is  the  gain  of  the  other  party  to  the  compact." 

"  I  don't  think  I  understand  you." 

"I'm  sure  you  do  not ;  and  you  have  put  no 
sugar  in  my  tea.  which  is  worse"  Do  you  mean 
to  say  that  your  clock  is  right,  and  that  it  is  al- 
ready nigh  seven?  Oh  dear!  and  I,  who  have 
not  told  you  one-half  of  my  news.  I  must  go  and 
dress.  I  have  a  certain  green  silk  with  white 
roses  which  I  mean  to  wear,  and  with  my  hair 
in  that  crimson  Neapolitan  net,  it  is  toilet  a  la 
minute." 

"You  know  how  it  becomes  you,"  said  Kate, 
half  slyly. 

"  Of  course  I  do,  or  in  this  critical  moment 
of  my  life  I  should  not  risk  it.  It  will  have  its 
own  suggestive  meaning,  too.  It  will  recall  ce 
cher  Cecil  to  days  at  Baia,  or  wandering  along 
the  coast  at  Portici.  I  have  known  a  fragment 
of  lace;  a  flower,  a  few  bars  of  a  song,  do  more  to 
link  the  broken  chain  of  memory  than  scores  of 
more  labored  recollections ;  and  then  these  little 
paths  that  lead  you  back  are  so  simple,  so  free 
from  all  premeditation.  Don't  you  think  so, 
dear  ?" 

"I  do  not  know,  and,  if  it  were  not  rude,  I'd 
say  I  do  not  care." 

"  If  my  cup  of  tea  were  not  so  good  I  should 
be  offended,  and  leave  the  room  after  such  a 
speech.  But  you  do  not  know,  you  could  not 
guess,  the  interesting  things  that  I  could  tell 
you,"  cried  she,  with  an  almost  breathless  rapid- 
ity. "Just  imagine  that  deep  statesman,  that 
profound  plotter,  telling  me  that  they  actually 
did  not  wish  to  capture  Donogan  —  that  they 
would  rather  he  should  escape!" 

'•lie  told  you  this?" 

"He  did  more;  he  showed  me  the  secret  in- 
structions to  his  police  creatures — I  forget  how 
they  are  called — showing  what  they  might  do  to 
connive  at  his  escape,  and  how  they  should — if 
they  could — induce  him  to  give  some  written 
pledge  to  leave  Ireland  forever." 

"Oh,  this  is  impossible!"  cried  Kate. 

"  I  could  prove  it  to  you  if  I  had  not  just  sent 
off  the  veritable  bit  of  writing  by  post.  Yes, 
stare  and  look  horrified  if  you  like ;  it  is  all  true. 
I  stole  the  piece  of  paper  with  the  secret  direc- 
tions, and  sent  it  straight  to  Donogan,  under 
cover  toArchibold  Casey,  Esq.,  'J  Lower  Gardner 
Street,  Dublin." 

"  How  could  you  have  done  such  a  thing?" 

"  Say  how  eould  I  have  done  otherwise. 
Donogan  now  knows  whether  it  will  become 
him  to  sign  this  pact  with  the  enemy.  It  he 
deem  his  life  worth  having  at  the  price,  it  is  well 
that  /  should  know  it." 

"It  is,  then,  of  yourself  you  were  thinking  all 
the  while?" 

"Of  myself  and  of  him.     I  do  not  say  I  love 

this  man;  but  I  do  .say  bis  conduct  now  -hall 
decide  if  he  be  worth  loving.  There's  the  bell 
for  dinner.  You  shall  hear  all  I  have  to  say 
this  evening.  What  an  interest  it  gives  to  life", 
even  this  much  of  plot  and  peril  I     Short  of  be- 


12G 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


ing  with  the  rebel  himself,  Kate,  and  sharing 
his  dangers,  I  know  of  nothing  could  have  given 
me  such  delight." 

She  turned  back  as  she  left  the  door,  and  said, 
'•  Make  Mr.  Walpole  take  you  down  to  dinner 
to-day ;  I  shall  take  Mr.  O'Shea's  arm,  or  your 
brother's." 

The  address  of  Archibold  Casey,  which  Nina 
had  used  on  this  occasion,  was  that  of  a  well- 
known  solicitor  in  Dublin,  whose  Conservative 
opinions  placed  him  above  all  suspicion  or  dis- 
trust. One  of  his  clients,  however — a  certain 
Mr.  Maher— had  been  permitted  to  have  letters 
occasionally  addressed  to  him  to  Casey's  care ; 
and  Maher,  being  an  old  college  friend  of  Dono- 
gan's,  afforded  him  this  mode  of  receiving  let- 
ters in  times  of  unusual  urgency  or  danger. 
Maher  shared  very  slightly  in  Donogan's  opin- 
ions. He  thought  the  men  of  the  National  par- 
ty not  only  dangerous  in  themselves,  but  that 
they  afforded  a  reason  for  many  of  the  repressive 
laws  which  Englishmen  passed  with  reference  to 
Ireland.  A  friendship  of  early  life,  when  both 
these  young  men  were  college  students,  had  over- 
come such  scruples,  and  Donogan  had  been  per- 
mitted to  have  many  letters  marked  simply  with 
aD.,  which  were  sent  under  cover  to  Maher. 
This  facility  had,  however,  been  granted  so  far 
back  as  '47,'  and  had  not  been  renewed  in  the  in- 
terval, during  which  time  the  Archibold  Casey 
of  that  period  had  died,  and  been  succeeded  by 
a  son  with  the  same  name  as  his  father. 

When  Nina,  on  looking  over  Donogan's  note- 
book, came  upon  this  address,  she  saw,  also,  some  i 
almost  illegible  words,  which  implied  that  it  was 
only  to  be  employed  as  the  last  resort,  or  had 
been  so  used— a  phrase  she  could  not  exactly  de-  | 
termiue  what  it  meant.  The  present  occasion 
— so  emergent  in  every  way — appeared  to  war- 
rant both  haste  and  security;  and  so,  under 
cover  to  S.  Maher,  she  wrote  to  Donogan  in 
these  words : 

"  I  send  you  the  words,  in  the  original  hand- 
writing, of  the  instructions  which  regard  you. 
You  will  do  what  your  honor  and  your  con- 
science dictate.  Do  not  write  to  me :  the  pub- 
lic papers  will  inform  me  what  your  decision  has 
been,  and  I  shall  be  satisfied,  however  it  incline. 
I  rely  upon  you  to  burn  the  inclosure." 

A  "suit  at  law.  in  which  Casey  acted  as  Maher's 
attorney  at  this  period,  required  that  the  letters 
addressed  to  his  house  for  Maher  should  be  open, 
ed  and  read ;  and  though  the  letter  D.  on  the 
outside  might  have  suggested  a  caution.  Casey 
either  overlooked  or  misunderstood  it,  and  broke 
the  seal.  Not  knowing  what  to  think  of  this 
document,  which  was  without  signature,  and  had 
no  clew  to  the  writer  except  the  postmark  of 
Kilgobbin,  Casey  hastened  to  lay  the  letter  as  it 
stood  before  the  barrister  who  conducted  Maher's 
cause,  and  to  ask  his  advice.  The  Right  Hon. 
Paul  Hartigan  was  an  ex-Attorney-General  of 
the  Tory  party — a  zealous,  active,  but  somewhat 
rash  member  of  his  party :  still  in  the  House,  a 
member  for  Mallow,  and"  far  more  eager  for  the 
return  of  his  friends  to  power  than  the  great  man 
who  dictated  the  tactics  of  the  Opposition,  and 
who  with  more  of  responsibility  could  calculate 
the  chances  of  success. 

Paul  Hartigan's  estimate  of  the  Whigs  was 
such  that  it  would  have  in  no  wise  astonished 
him  to  discover  that  Mr.  Gladstone  was  in  close 


correspondence  with  O'Donovan  Rossa,  or  that 
Chichester  Portescue  had  been  sworn  in  as  a 
head-centre.  That  the  whole  cabinet  were  se- 
cretly papists,  and  held  weekly  confession  at  the 
feet  of  Dr.  Manning,  he  was  prepared  to  prove. 
He  did  not  vouch  for  Mr.  Lowe ;  but  he  could 
produce  the  form  of  scapular  worn  by  Mr.  Glad- 
stone, and  had  a  fac-simile  of  the  scourge  by 
which  Mr.  Cardwell  diurnally  chastened  his  nat- 
ural instincts. 

If,  then,  he  expressed  but  small  astonishment 
at  this  "  traffic  of  the  government  with  rebellion" 
— for  so  he  called  it — he  lost  no  time  in  endeav- 
oring to  trace  the  writer  of  the  letter,  and  ascer- 
taining, so  far  as  he  might,  the  authenticity  of 
the  inclosure. 

"It's  all  true,  Casey,"  he  said,  a  few  days  aft- 
er his  receipt  of  the  papers.  "The  instructions 
are  written  by  Cecil  Walpole,  the  private  secre- 
tary of  Lord  Danesbury.  I  have  obtained  sev- 
eral specimens  of  his  writing.  There  is  no  at- 
tempt at  disguise  or  concealment  in  this.  I  have 
learned,  too,  that  the  police-constable  Dargan  is 
one  of  their  most  trusted  agents ;  and  the  only 
thing  now  to  find  out  is,  who  is  the  writer  of  the 
letter  ;  for  up  to  tliis  all  we  know  is,  the  hand  is 
a  woman's." 

Now  it  chanced  that  when  Mr.  Hartigan — who 
had  taken  great  pains  and  bestowed  much  time 
to  learn  the  story  of  the  night  attack  on  Kilgob- 
bin, and  wished  to  make  the  presence  of  Mr. 
Walpole  on  the  scene  the  ground  of  a  question 
in  Parliament — had  consulted  the  leader  of  the 
Opposition  on  the  subject,  he  had  met  not  only  a 
distinct  refusal  of  aid,  but  something  very  like  a 
reproof  for  his  ill-advised  zeal.  The  Honorable 
Paul,  not  for  the  first  time  disposed  to  distrust 
the  political  loyalty  that  differed  with  his  own 
ideas,  now  declared  openly  that  he  would  not 
confide  this  great  disclosure  to  the  lukewarm  ad- 
vocacy of  Mr.  Disraeli :  he  would  himself  lay  it 
before  the  House,  and  stand  or  fall  by  the  re- 
sult. 

If  the  men  who  "  stand  or  fall"  by  any  meas- 
ure were  counted,  it  is  to  be  feared  that  they  usu- 
ally would  be  found  not  only  in  the  category  of 
the  latter,  but  that  they  very  rarely  rise  again,  so 
very  few  are  the  matters  which  can  be  deter- 
mined without  some  compromise,  and  so  rare  are 
the  political  questions  which  comprehend  a  dis- 
tinct principle. 

What  warmed  the  Hartigan  ardor,  and,  in- 
deed, chafed  it  to  a  white  heat  on  this  occasion, 
was  to  see  by  the  public  papers  that  Daniel  Don- 
ogan had  been  fixed  on  by  the  men  of  King's 
County  as  the  popular  candidate,  and  a  public 
meeting  held  at  Kilbeggan  to  declare  that  the 
man  who  should  oppose  him  at  the  hustings 
should  be  pronounced  the  enemy  of  Ireland.  To 
show  that  while  this  man  was  advertised  in  the 
Hue  and  Cry,  with  an  immense  reward  for  his 
apprehension,  he  was  in  secret  protected  by  the 
government,  who  actually  condescended  to  treat 
with  him  ;  what  an  occasion  would  this  afford 
for  an  attack  that  would  revive  the  memories  of 
Grattan's  scorn  and  Curran's  sarcasm,  and  to  de- 
clare to  the  senate  of  England  that  the  men  who 
led  them  were  unworthy  guardians  of  the  nation- 
al honor ! 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


127 


CHAPTEB  L. 

CROSS     IT  B  POB  B  s. 


Wiiri  ii i  i:  Walpole  found  Borne  peculiar  diffi- 
culty in  committing  bis  intentions  to  writing,  or 

whether  the  press  of  business  which  usually  oc- 
cupied his  mornings  sewed  as  an  excuse,  or 
whether  lie  was  satisfied  with  the  progress  of  his 
suit  by  his  personal  assiduities,  is  not  easy  to  -ay  ; 

but  his  attentions  to  Mademoiselle  Kostalergi  had 
now  assumed  the  form  which  prudent  mothers  are 
wont  to  call  "•serious,'-  and  had  already  passed 
into  that  stage  where  small  jealousies  begin,  and 
little  episodes  of  anger  and  discontent  are  ad- 
mitted as  symptoms  of  the  complaint. 

In  fact,  he  hail  gol  to  think  himself  privileged 
to  remonstrate  against  this,  and  to  dictate  that — 
a  state,  be  it  observed,  which,  whatever  its  effect 
upon  the  *'  lady  of  his  Love,  "makes  a  man  partic- 
ularly odious  to  the  people  around  him,  and  he  is 
singularly  fortunate  if  it  make  him  not  ridiculous 
also. 

The  docile  or  submissive  was  not  the  remarka- 
ble element  in  Nina's  nature.  She  usually  resist- 
ed advice,  and  resented  any  thing  like  dictation 
from  any  quarter.  Indeed,  they  who  knew  her 
best  saw  that,  however  open  to  casual  influences, 
a  direct  show  of  guidance  was  sure  to  call  up  all 
her  spirit  of  opposition.  It  was,  then,  a  matter 
of  actual  astonishment  to  all  to  perceive  not  only 
how  quietly  and  patiently  she  accepted  Walpole's 
comments  and  suggestions,  but  how  implicitly 
she  seemed  to  obey  them. 

All  the  little  harmless  freedoms  of  manner 
with  Dick  Kearney  and  O'Shea  were  now  com- 
pletely given  up.  No  more  was  there  between 
them  that  interchange  of  light  "persiflage" 
which,  presupposing  some  subject  of  common 
interest,  is  in  itself  a  ground  of  intimacy. 

She  ceased  to  sing  the  songs  that  were  their  fa- 
vorites. Her  walks  in  the  garden  after  breakfast, 
where  her  ready  wit  and  genial  pleasantry  used  to 
bring  her  a  perfect  troop  of  followers,  were  aban- 
doned. The  little  projects  of  daily  pleasure,  hith- 
erto her  especial  province,  were  changed  for  a 
calm,  subdued  demeanor,  which,  though  devoid 
of  all  depression,  wore  the  impress  of  a  certain 
thoughtfulness  and  seriousness. 

No  man  was  less  observant  than  old  Kearney, 
and  yet  even  he  saw  the  change  at  last,  and  ask- 
ed Kate  what  it  might  mean.  '"She  is  not  ill, 
I  hope,"  said  he;  "or  is  our  humdrum  life  too 
wearisome  to  her?" 

"I  do  not  suspect  either,"  said  Kate,  slowly. 
"I  rather  believe  that,  as  Mr.  Walpole  has  paid 
her  certain  attentions,  -lie  has  made  the  changes 
in  her  manner  in  deference  to  some  wishes  of 
Ma," 

"  He  wants  her  to  be  more  English,  perhaps," 
said  he.  sarcastically. 

'•  Perhaps  so." 

'•  Well.  Bhe  is  not  born  one  of  us,  but  she  is 
like  us  all  the  same,  and  I'll  be  sorely  grieved  if 

she'll  give  up  her light-heartedness and  her  pleas- 
antry to  win  that  <  'ockney." 

"I  think  she  has  won  the  Cockney  already, 
Sir.'' 

A  long  low  whistle  was  his  reply.  At  last  he 
Baid,  "•  I  Buppoae  it's  a  very  grand  conquest,  and 
what  the  world  calls  'an  elegant  match;'  but 
may  I  never  gee  Ka-ter,  if  I  wouldn't  rather  she'd 
marry  a  tine  dashing  young  fellow  over  six  feet 


|  high,  like  O'Shea  there,  than  one  of  your  gold- 
chain-and-locket  young  gentlemen  who  smile 
where  they  ought  to  laugh,  and  pick  their  way 
through  life,  as  a  man  crosses  a  stream,  on  step- 
ping-stones." 

"Maybe  she  does  not  like  Mr.  O'Shea,  Sir." 

"And  do  you  think  she.  likes  the  other  man? 
^  or  is  it  any  thing  else  than  one  of  thoBO  inerce- 
nary  attachments  that  you  young  ladies  under- 
stand better.  Far  better,  than  the  mOSl  worldly- 
minded  father  or  mother  of  us  all?" 

"Mr.  Walpole  has  not,  I  believe,  any  fortune, 
Sir.  There  is  nothing  very  dazzling  in  his  posi- 
tion or  his  prospects." 

"  No.  Not  among  his  own  set,  nor  with  his  own 
people — he  is  small  enough  there,  I  grant  you ; 
but  when  he  comes  down  to  OUTS,  Kitty,  we  think 
him  a  grandee  of  Spain  ;  and  if  he  was  married 
into  the  family,  we'd  get  off  all  his  noble  rela- 
tions by  heart,  and  soon  start  talking  of  our  aunt, 
Lady  such  a  one,  and  Lord  somebody  else,  that 
was  our  first  cousin,  till  our  neighbors  would 
nearly  die  out  of  pure  spite.  Sitting  down  in 
one's  poverty  and  thinking  over  one's  grand  re- 
lations, is  for  all  the  world  like  Paddy  eating  his 
potatoes  and  pointing  at  the  red  herring — even 
the  look  of  what  he  dare  not  taste  flavors  his 
meal." 

"At  least,  Sir,  you  have  found  an  excuse  for 
our  conduct." 

"Because  we  are  all  snobs,  Kitty;  because 
there  is  not  a  bit  of  honesty  or  manliness  in  our 
nature ;  and  because  our  women  that  need  not 
be  bargaining  or  borrowing — neither  pawnbro- 
kers nor  usurers — are  just  as  vulgar-minded  as 
ourselves ;  and,  now  that  we  have  given  twenty- 
millions  to  get  rid  of  slavery,  like  to  show  how 
they  can  keep  it  up  in  the  old  country,  just  out 
of  defiance." 

"If  you  disapprove  of  Mr.  Walpole,  Sir,  I  be- 
lieve it  is  full  time  you  should  say  so." 

"  I  neither  approve  nor  disapprove  of  him.  I 
don't  well  know  whether  I  have  any  right  to  do 
either — I  mean  so  far  as  to  influence  her  choice. 
He  belongs  to  a  sort  of  men  I  know  as  little  about 
as  I  do  of  the  Choctaw  Indians.  They  have  lives 
and  notions  and  ways  all  unlike  ours.  The  world 
is  so  civil  to  them  that  it  prepares  every  thing  to 
their  taste.  If  they  want  to  shoot,  the  birds  are 
cooped  up  in  a  cover,  and  only  let  fly  when  they're 
ready.  When  they  fish,  the  salmon  are  kept  pre- 
paid I  to  be  caught;  and  if  they  make  love,  the 
young  lady  is  just  as  ready  to  rise  to  the  fly,  and 
as  willing  to  be  bagged  as  either.  Thank  God, 
my  darling,  with  all  our  barbarism,  we  have  not 
come  to  that  in  Ireland." 

••  Here  comes  .Mr.  Walpole  now.  Sir  ;  and,  if  I 
read  his  face  aright,  he  has  .something  of  impor- 
tance to  say  to  you." 

Kate  had  barely  time  to  leave  the  room  as 
Walpole  came  forward  with  an  open  telegram 
and  a  ma-s  of  paper-  in  bis  band. 

"M.i)  1  have  a  few  moments  of  conversation 

with  you  ?"  said  he  ;  and  in  the  tone  of  his  words, 
and  a  certain  gravity  in  his  manner,  Kearney 
thought  he  could  perceive  what  the  communica- 
tion portended. 

"I  am  at  your  orders,"  -aid  Kearney;  and 
he  placed  a  chair  for  the  other. 

••An  incident  has  befallen  my  life  here,  Mr. 
Kearney,  which,  I  grieve  to  say,  may  not  only 
color  the  whole  of  my  future  career,  but  not  im- 


128 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


possibly  prove  the  barrier  to  my  pursuit  of  pub- 
lic life." 

Kearney  stared  at  him  as  he  finished  speak- 
ing, and  the  two  men  sat  fixedly  gazing  on  each 
other. 

"It  is,  I  hasten  to  own,  the  one  unpleasant, 
the  one,  the  only  one,  disastrous  event  of  a  visit 
full  of  the  happiest  memories  of  my  life.  Of 
your  generous  and  graceful  hospitality  I  can  not 
say  half  what  I  desire — " 

"Say  nothing  about  my  hospitality,"  said 
Kearney,  whose  irritation  as  to  what  the  other 
called  a  disaster  left  him  no  place  for  any  other 
sentiment;  "but  just  tell  me  why  you  count 
this  a  misfortune." 

"I  call  a  misfortune,  Sir,  what  may  not  only 
depose  me  from  my  office  and  my  station,  but 
withdraw  entirely  from  me  the  favor  and  pro- 
tection of  my  uncle,  Lord  Danesbury." 

"Then  why  the  devil  do  you  do  it?"  cried 
Kearney,  angrily. 

"Why  do  I  do  what,  Sir?  I  am  not  aware 
of  any  action  of  mine  you  should  question  with 
such  energy." 

"I  mean,  if  it  only  tends  to  ruin  your  pros- 
pects and  disgust  your  family,  why  do  you  per- 
sist, Sir?  I  was  going  to  say  more,  and  ask 
with  what  face  you  presume  to  come  and  tell 
these  things  to  me  ?" 

"I  am  really  unable  to  understand  you,  Sir." 

"  Mayhap,  we  are  both  of  us  in  the  same  pre- 
dicament," cried  Kearney,  as  he  wiped  his  brow 
in  proof  of  his  confusion. 

"  Had  you  accorded  me  a  very  little  patience, 
I  might,  perhaps,  have  explained  myself. " 

'Not  trusting  himself  with  a  word,  Kearney 
nodded,  and  the  other  went  on :  "  The  post  this 
morning  brought  me,  among  other  things,  these 
two  newspapers,  with  pen-marks  in  the  margin 
to  direct  my  attention.  This  is  the  Lily  of  Lon- 
donderry, a  wild  Orange  print ;  this  the  Banner 
of  Ulster,  a  journal  of  the  same  complexion. 
Here  is  what  the  Lily  says :  '  Our  county  mem- 
ber, Sir  Jonas  Gettering,  is  now  in  a  position  to 
call  the  attention  of  Parliament  to  a  document 
which  will  distinctly  show  how  her  Majesty's 
ministers  are  not  only  in  close  correspondence 
with  the  leaders  of  Fenianism,  but  that  Irish  re- 
bellion receives  its  support  and  comfort  from  the 
present  Cabinet.  Grave  as  this  charge  is,  and 
momentous  as  would  be  the  consequences  of 
such  an  allegation  if  unfounded,  we  repeat  that 
such  a  document  is  in  existence,  and  that  we 
who  write  these  lines  have  held  it  in  our  hands 
and  have  perused  it.' 

"  The  Banner  copies  the  paragraph,  and  adds : 
'We  give  all  the  publicity  in  our  power  to  a 
statement  which,  from  our  personal  knowledge, 
we  can  declare  to  be  true.  If  the  disclosures 
which  a  debate  on  this  subject  must  inevitably 
lead  to  will  not  convince  Englishmen  that  Ire- 
land is  now  governed  b}r  a  party  whose  falsehood 
and  subtlety  not  even  Macchiavelli  himself  could 
justify,  we  are  free  to  declare  we  are  ready  to 
join  the  Nationalists  to-morrow,  and  to  cry  out 
for  a  Parliament  in  College  Green,  in  preference 
to  a  Holy  Inquisition  at  Westminster.'  " 

"That  fellow  has  blood  in  him,"  cried  Kear- 
ney, with  enthusiasm,  "and  I  go  a  long  way 
with  him." 

"  That  may  be,  Sir,  and  I  am  sorry  to  hear 
it,"  said  Walpole,  coldly  ;   "  but  what  I  am  con- 


cerned to  tell  you  is,  that  the  document  or  mem- 
orandum here  alluded  to  was  among  my  papers, 
and  abstracted  from  them  since  I  have  been 
here. " 

"So  that  there  was  actually  such  a  paper?" 
broke  in  Kearney. 

"There  was  a  paper  which  the  malevolence 
of  a  party  journalist  could  convert  to  the  sup- 
port of  such  a  charge.  What  concerns  me  more 
immediately  is,  that  it  has  been  stolen  from  my 
dispatch-box." 

' '  Are  you  certain  of  that  ?" 

' '  I  believe  I  can  prove  it.  The  only  day  in 
which  I  was  busied  with  these  papers  I  carried 
them  down  to  the  library,  and  with  my  own 
hands  I  brought  them  back  to  my  room  and 
placed  them  under  lock  and  key  at  once.  The 
box  bears  no  trace  of  having  been  broken,  so 
that  the  only  solution  is  a  key.  Perhaps  my 
own  key  may  have  been  used  to  open  it,  for  the 
document  is  gone." 

"  This  is  a  bad  business,"  said  Kearney,  sor- 
rowfully. 

"It  is  ruin  to  me,"  cried  Walpole,  with  pas- 
sion. ' '  Here  is  a  dispatch  from  Lord  Danes- 
bury  commanding  me  immediately  to  go  over 
to  him  in  Wales,  and  I  can  guess  easily  what 
has  occasioned  the  order." 

"I'll  send  for  a  force  of  Dublin  detectives. 
I'll  write  to  the  chief  of  the  police.  I'll  not  rest 
till  I  have  every  one  in  the  house  examined  on 
oath,"  cried  Kearney.  "What  was  it  like? 
Was  it  a  dispatch — was  it  in  an  envelope  ?" 

"  It  was  a  mere  memorandum — a  piece  of  post 
paper,  and  headed, '  Draught  of  instruction  touch- 
ing D.  D.  Forward  to  chief  constable  of  police 
at  Letterkenny.     October  9th.'  " 

"But  you  had  no  direct  correspondence  with 
Donogan  ?" 

' '  I  believe,  Sir,  I  need  not  assure  you  I  had 
not.  The  malevolence  of  party  has  alone  the 
merit  of  such  an  imputation.  For  reasons  of 
state,  we  desired  to  observe  a  certain  course  to- 
ward the  man,  and  Orange  malignity  is  pleased 
to  misrepresent  and  calumniate  us." 

"And  can't  you  say  so  in  Parliament?" 

"So  we  will,  Sir,  and  the  nation  will  believe 
us.  Meanwhile,  see  the  mischief  that  the  mis- 
erable slander  will  reflect  upon  our  administra- 
tion here,  and  remember  that  the  people  who 
could  alone  contradict  the  story  are  those  very 
Feiyians  who  will  benefit  by  its  being  believed." 

"  Do  your  suspicions  point  to  any  one  in  par- 
ticular?    Do  you  believe  that  Curtis — " 

"  I  had  it  in  my  hand  the  day  after  he  left." 

"Was  any  one  aware  of  its  existence  here 
but  yourself?" 

"  None — wait,  I  am  wrong.  Your  niece  saw 
it.  She  was  in  the  library  one  day.  I  was  en- 
gaged in  writing,  and  as  we  grew  to  talk  over 
the  country,  I  chanced  to  show  her  the  dis- 
patch." 

"Let  us  ask  her  if  she  remembers  whether 
any  servant  was  about  at  the  time,  or  happened 
to  enter  the  room. " 

"  1  can  myself  answer  that  question.  I  know 
there  was  not." 

' '  Let  us  call  her  down  and  see  what  she  re- 
members," said  Kearney. 

"I'd  rather  not,  Sir.  A  mere  question  in 
such  a  case  would  be  offensive,  and  I  would  not 
risk  the  chance.     What  I  would  most  wish  is, 


DOBD  BJLGOBBIN. 


129 


to  place  my  dispatch-box,  with  the  key,  in  your 
keeping,  for  the  purposes  of  the  inquiry,  for  I 

must  si;iit  in  half  an  hour.      I  have  .-rut  forpOSt- 

horsea  to  Moate,  and  ordered  a  Bpecial  train  to 
town.  I  shall.  I  hope,  oatch  the  eight-o'clock 
boat  for  Eolyhead,  and  be  with  his  lordship  be- 
fore this  time  to  morrow.     It'  1  do  nol  sec  the 

ladies,  for  I  believe  they  are  out  walking,  will 
you  make  my  excuses  and  my  adieux  :  my  con- 
fusion and  discomfiture  will,  I  feel  sure,  plead 
for  me?  It  would  not  he.  perhaps,  too  much  to 
ask  for  any  information  that  a  police  inquiry 
might  elicit ;  and  if  either  of  the  young  ladies 
would  vouchsafe  me  a  line  to  say  what,  if  any 
thing,  has  Keen  discovered,  I  should  feel  deeply 
g  rati  tied." 

'Til  look  to  that.     You  shall  he  informed." 

'•  There  was  another  question  that  I  much  de- 
sired to  speak  of,"  and  here  he  hesitated  and 
faltered  :  "  hut  perhaps,  on  every  score,  it  is  as 
well  I  should  defer  it  till  my  return  to  Ireland." 

"  You  know  hest,  whatever  it  is,"  said  the  old 
man,  dryly. 

"Yes.  I  think  so.  I  am  sure  of  it."  A 
hurried  shake-hands  followed,  and  he  was  gone. 

It  is  but  right  to  add  that  a  glance  at  the  mo- 
ment through  the  window  had  shown  him  the 
wearer  of  a  muslin  dress  turning  into  the  copse 
outside  the  garden,  and  Walpole  dashed  down 
the  stairs  and  hurried  in  the  direction  he  saw 
Nina  take,  with  all  the  speed  he  could. 

"  Get  my  luggage  on  the  carriage,  and  have 
every  thing  ready,"  said  he,  as  the  horses  were 
drawn  up  at  the  door.  "  I  shall  return  in  a  mo- 
ment." 


CHAPTER  LI. 


AWAKKMW.s. 


Whbh  "YYalpoIe  hurried  into  the  beech  alley, 
which  he  had  seen  Nina  take,  and  followed  her 
in  all  haste,  he  did  not  stop  to  question  himself 
why  he  did  so.  Indeed,  if  prudence  were  to  he 
consulted,  there  was  every  reason  in  the  world 
why  he  should  rather  have  left  his  leave-takings 
to  the  care  of  Mr.  Kearney  than  assume  the 
charge  of  them  himself;  but  if  young  gentlemen 
who  fall  in  love  were  only  to  be  logical  or  "con- 
sequent," the  tender  passion  would  soon  lose  some 
of  the  contingencies  which  give  it  much  of  its 
charm,  and  people  who  follow  such  occupations 
as  mine  would  discover  that  they  had  lost  one 
of  the  principal  employments  of  their  lifetime. 

As  he  went  along,  however,  he  bethought  him 
that  a^  it  was  to  say  good-by  he  now  followed 
her,  it  behooved  him  to  blend  his  leave-taking 
with  that  pledge  of  a  speedy  return  which,  like 
the  effects  of  light  in  landscape,  bring  out  the 
various  tints  in  the  richest  coloring,  and  mark 
more  distinctly  all  that  is  in  shadow.  "I  shall 
at  least  see,"  muttered  he  to  himself,  "how  far 
my  presence  here  serves  to  brighten  her  daily 
life,  and  what  amount  of  gloom  my  absence  will 
suggest. "  ('ceil  Walpole  was  one  of  a  class — 
and  I  hasten  to  say  it  is  a  class — who,  if  not 
very  lavish  of  their  own  affections,  or  accustomed 
to  draw  largely  on  their  own  emotions,  are  very 
fond  of  being  loved  themselves,  and  not  only  are 
they  convinced  that  as  there  can  be  nothing 
more  natural  or  reasonable  than  to  love  them, 
it  is  still  a  highly  commendable  feature  in  the 
I 


person  who  carries  that  love  to  the  extent  of  n 
small  idolatry,  and  makes  it  tin-  business  of  a 
life.  To  worship  the  men  of  this  order  consti 
tntes  in  their  eyes  a  species  of  intellectual  su- 
periority for  which  they  are  grateful,  and  this 
same  gratitude  represents  to  themselves  all  of 

love  their  natures  are  capable  of  feeling. 

lie  knew  thoroughly  thai  Nina  was  not  alone 
the  most  beautiful  woman  he  had  ever  seen;  that 
the  fascinations  of  her  manner,  and  her  grace 
of  movement  and  gesture,  exercised  a  sway  that 
was  almost  magic;  that  in  quickness  in  appre- 
hend and  readiness  to  reply  she  scarcely  had  an 
equal  :  and  that,  whether  she  smiled,  or  looked 
pensive,  or  listened,  or  spoke,  there  was  an  ab- 
sorbing charm  about  her  that  made  one  forgel 
all  else  around  her,  and  unable  to  see  any  but 
her;  and  yet,  with  all  this  consciousness,  he  rec- 
ognized no  trait  about  her  so  thoroughly  at- 
tractive as  that  she  admired  him. 

Let  me  not  he  misunderstood.  This  same 
sentiment  can  be  at  times  something  very  dili'er- 
ent  from  a  mere  egotism — not  that  I  mean  to 
say  it  was  such  in  the  present  case.  Cecil 
Walpole  fully  represented  the  order  he  belonged 
to,  and  was  a  most  well-looking,  well-dressed, 
and  well-bred  young  gentleman,  only  suggesting 
the  reflection  that  to  live  among  such  a  class 
pure  and  undiluted  would  he  little  better  than  a 
life  passed  in  the  midst  of  French  communism. 

I  have  said  that,  after  his  fashion,  he  was  "in 
love"  with  her,  and  so,  after  his  fashion,  he 
wanted  to  say  that  he  was  going  away,  and  to 
tell  her  not  to  be  utterly  disconsolate  till  he 
came  back  again.  "  I  can  imagine,"  thought 
he,  "how  I  made  her  life  here;  how,  in  devel- 
oping the  features  that  attract  me,  I  made  her  a 
very  different  creature  to  herself." 

It  was  not  at  all  unpleasant  to  him  to  think  that 
the  people  who  should  surround  her  were  so  un- 
like himself.  "The  barbarians,"  as  he  courte- 
ously called  them  to  himself,  "will  be  very  hard 
to  endure.  Nor  am  I  very  sorry  for  it ;  only  she 
must  catch  nothing  of  their  traits  in  accommo- 
dating herself  to  their  habits.  On  that  I  must 
strongly  insist.  Whether  it  be  by  singing  their 
silly  ballads — that  four-note  melody  they  call 
'Irish  music' — or  through  mere  imitation,  she 
has  already  caught  a  slight  accent  of  the  coun- 
try. She  must  get  rid  of  this.  She  will  have  to 
divest  herself  of  all  her  '  Kilgobhinries'  ere  I 
present  her  to  my  friends  in  town."  Apart  from 
these  disparagements,  she  could,  as  he  expressed 
it,  "  hold  her  own  ;"  and  people  take  a  very  nar- 
row view  of  the  social  dealings  of  the  world  who 
fail  to  see  how  much  occasion  a  woman  has  for 
the  exercise  of  tact  and  temper  and  discretion 
and  ready-wittedness  and  generosity  in  all  the 
well-bred  intercourse  of  life,  dust  as  Walpole 
had  arrived  at  that  Btage  of  reflection  to  recog- 
nize that  she  was  exactly  the  woman  to  suit  him 
and  push  bis  fortunes  with  the  world,  he  reached 

a  part  of  the  wood  where  a  little  space  had  I n 

cleared,  and  a  few  rustic  seats  scattered  aboul 
to  make  a  halting-place.  The  sound  of  voices 
Caught  his  ear,  and  he  stopped;  and  now,  look- 
ing  stealthily   through    the    brush-n 1.  he   saw 

Gorman  O-Slica  as  he  lay  in  a  lounging  attitude 
on  a  bench  and  Bmoked  bis  cigar,  while  Nina 
Kostalergi  was  busily  engaged  in  pinning  up  the 
skirt  of  her  Areas  in  a  festoon  fashion,  which,  to 
Cecil's  ideas  at  least,  displayed  more  of  a  mar- 


130 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


velously  pretty  instep  and  ankle  than  he  thought 
strictly  warranted.  Puzzling  as  this  seemed,  the 
first  words  she  spoke  gave  the  explanation. 

"  Don't  flatter  yourself,  most  valiant  soldier, 
that  you  are  going  to  teach  me  the  'Czardasz.' 
I  learned  it  years  ago  from  Tassilo  Esterhazy ; 
hut  I  asked  you  to  come  here  to  set  me  right 


trian  army,  but  the  count  was  a  perfect  gentle- 
man, and  a  special  friend  of  mine." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it,"  was  the  gruff  rejoinder. 

"You  have  nothing  to  grieve  for,  Mr.  You 
have  no  vested  interest  to  be  imperiled  by  any 
thing  that  I  do." 

"Let  us  not  quarrel,  at  all  events,"  said  he, 


about  that  half-minuet  step  that  begins  it.  I  be- 
lieve I  have  got  into  the  habit  of  doing  the  man's 
part,  for  I  used  to  be  Pauline  Esterhazy 's  part- 
ner after  Tassilo  went  away." 

"You  had  a  precious  dancing-master  in  Tas- 
silo," growled  out  ( TShea.  "  The  greatest  scamp 
in  the  Austrian  arm  v."  * 


as  he  arose  with  some  alacrity  and  flung  away 
his  cigar;  and  Walpole  turned  away,  as  little 
pleased  with  what  lie  had  heard,  as  dissatisfied 
with  himself  for  having  listened.  "And  we  call 
these  things  accidents,"  muttered  he;  "but  I 
believe  fortune  means  more  generously  by  us 
when  she  crosses  our  path  in  this  wise.     I  almost 


1  know  nothing  of  the  moralities  of  the  Aus- |  wish  I  had  gone  a  step  further,  and  stood  be- 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


181 


fore  them.  At  least  it  would  have  finished  tins  I 
episode,  and  without  a  wmd.  A>  it  i-.  a  mere 
phrase  will  do  it— tin-  simple  question  as  to  what 
progress  she  makes  in  dancing  will  show  I  know 
all.'  Hut  do  1  know  all?"  Thus  speculating | 
and  ruminating,  ho  went  his  way  till  ho  reached 
the  carriage,  and  drove  off  at  speed,  for  the  first 

time  in  his  lite  really  and  deeply  in  love! 

He  made  his  journey  safely,  and  arrived  at 
Holvhead   by  daybreak.      He   had   meant   to  go 

over  deliberately  all  that  he  Bhould  say  to  the 
Viceroy,  when  questioned,  as  he  expected  to  be, 

on  the  condition  of  Ireland.  It  was  an  old  story, 
and  with  very  tew  variations  to  enliven  it. 

How  was  it  that,  with  all  his  Irish  intelligence 
well  arranged  in  his  mind — the  agrarian  crime, 
the  ineffective  police,  the  timid  juries,  the  inso- 
lence of  the  popular  press,  and  the  arrogant  de- 
mands of  the  priesthood— how  was  it  that,  ready 
to  state  all  these  obstacles  to  right  government, 
and  prepared  to  show  that  it  was  only  by  "out- 
jockeying"  the  parties  he  could  hope  to  win  in 
Ireland  still— that  Greek  girl,  and  what  he  call- 
ed her  perfidy,  would  occupy  a  most  dispropor- 
tionate share  of  his  thoughts,  ami  a  large  place 
in  his  heart  also?  The  simple  truth  is,  that 
though  up  to  this  Walpole  found  immense  pleas- 
ure in  his  flirtation  with  Nina  Kostalergi,  yet  his 
feeling  for  her  now  was  nearer  love  than  any 
thing  he  had  experienced  before.  The  bare  sus- 
picion that  a  woman  could  jilt  him,  or  the  pos- 
sible thought  that  a  rival  could  lie  found  to  sup- 
plant him.  gave,  by  the  very  pain  it  occasioned, 
such  an  interest  to  the  episode  that  he  could 
scarcely  think  of  any  thing  else.  That  the  most 
effectual  way  to  deal  with  the  Creek  was  to  re- 
new his  old  relations  with  his  cousin.  Lady  Maude, 
was  clear  enough.  ''At  least  I  shall  seem  to 
he  the  traitor,"  thought  he:  "and  she  shall  not 
glory  in  the  thought  of  having  deceived  me." 
While  he  was  still  revolving  these  thoughts  he  ar- 
rived at  the  Castle,  and  learned,  as  he  crossed  the 
door,  that  his  lordship  was  impatient  to  see  him. 

J. ord  Danesbury  had  never  been  a  fluent  speak- 
er in  public,  while  in  private  life  a  natural  in- 
dolence of  disposition,  improved,  so  to  say.  by 
an  Eastern  life,  had  made  him  so  sparing  of  his 
words  that  at  times,  when  he  was  ill  or  indisposed, 
he  could  never  he  said  to  converse  at  all.  and 
Lis  talk  consisted  of  very  short  sentences  strung 
loosely  together,  and  not  unfrequently  so  ill-con- 
nected a-  to  show  that  an  unexpressed  thought 
very  often  intervened  between  the  uttered  frag- 
ment-. Except  to  men  who,  like  Walpole, 
knew  him  intimately,  he  was  all  but  unintelligi- 
ble.   The  private  secretary,  however,  understood 

how  to  till  up  the  blanks  in   any  discourse,  and 

so  follow  out  indications  which,  to  less  practiced 

Byes,   left  no  foot-marks  behind  them. 

His  Excellency,  slowly  recovering  from  a  sharp 
attack  of  gout,  was  propped  by  pillows,  and  smok- 
ing a  long  Turkish  pipe,  a-  (Veil  entered  the 
room  and  saluted  him.  "Come  at  last."  was 
his  lordship's  greeting.  "Ought  to  have  been 
here  weeks  ago.  Read  that."  And  bepushed 
toward  him  a  Times,  with  a  mark  on  the  margin  : 

"To  ask  the  Secretary  for  Ireland  whether  the 
statement  made  by  certain  newspapers  in  the 
North  of  a  correspondence  between  the  Castle 

authorities  and  the  Fenian  leader  was  true,  and 
whether  such  correspondence  could  be  laid  on 
the  table  of  the  House?" 


'  cried  the  Viceroy,  a-  Walpole 

paragraph  somewhat  bIowIj  to 


"Read  it  oul 
conned  over  th 
himself. 

"  I  think,  my  lord,  when  you  have  heard  a 
few  words  of  explanation  from  me.  you  will  sec 
that  this  charge  has  not  the  gravity  these  new, 
paper  people  would  like  to  attach  to  it." 

"Can't  be  explained— nothing  could  justify — 
infernal  blunder    ami  must  go." 

'•  Pray,  my  lord,  vouchsafe  me  even  five  min- 
utes." 

"See  it  all— balderdash — explain  nothing — 
Cardinal  more  offended  than  the  rest  -and  hi'ic, 
read."  And  he  pushed  a  letter  toward  him, 
dated  Downing  Street,  and  marked  private. 
"The  idiot  you  left  behind  you  ha-  been  be- 
trayed into  writing  to  the  rebels  and  making 
conditions  with  them.  To  disown  him  now  is 
not  enough." 

••  Really,  my  lord,  I  don't  see  why  I  should 
submit  to  the  indignity  of  reading  more  of  this." 

His  Excellency  crushed  the  letter  in  his  band, 
and  puffed  very  vigorously  at  his  pipe,  which 
was  nearly  exhausted.  "  .Must  go."  said  he,  at 
last,  as  a  fresh  volume  of  smoke  rolled  forth. 

"That  I  can  believe — that  I  can  understand, 
|  my  lord.  When  you  tell  me  you  cease  to  in- 
dorse my  pledges,  1  feel  I  am  a  bankrupt  in  your 
esteem." 

"Others  smashed  in  the  same  insolvency — 
! inconceivable  blunder — where  was  Cartright? — 
what  was  Holmes  about?  Ko  one  in  Dublin  to 
keep  you  out  of  this  cursed  folly  ?" 

"Until  your  lordship's  patience  will  permit 
me  to  say  a  few  words,  I  can  not  hope  to  justify 
my  conduct." 

" No  justifying — no  explaining — no!  regular 
smash,  and  complete  disgrace.      Must  go." 
1      "I  am  quite  ready  to  go.     Your  Excellency 
j  has  no  need  to  recall  me  to  the  necessity." 

"Knew  it  all — and  against  my  will,  too — said 
so  from  the  first — thing  I  never  liked — nor  see 
my  way  in.     Must  go — must  go." 

"I  presume,  my  lord,  I  may  leave  you  now. 
1  want  a  bath  and  a  cup  of  Coffee." 

"Answer  that!"  was  the  gruff  reply,  as  he 
tossed  across  the  table  a  few  lines  signed,  "  Ber- 
tie Spencer,  Private  Secretary." 

"I  am  directed  to  request  that  Mr.  Walpole 
will  enable  tin'  Right  Honorable  Mr.  Annihnugh 
to  give  the  flattest  denial  to  the  inclosed." 

"That  must  be  done  at  once.  '  said  ihe  Vice- 
roy, as  the  other  ceased  to  read  the  note. 

"It  is  impossible,  my  lord;  1  can  not  deny 
my  own  handwriting." 

"Annihongh  will  find  some  road  out  of  it.'« 
muttered    the    other.       "  You    were    a    fool,   and 

mistook  your  instructions  :  or  the  constable  was  a 
fool,  and  required  a  misdirection  ;  or  the  /•"</*.'■/// 

was  a  fool,  which  he  would  have  been  if  ho  gave 
the  pledge  yOU  asked  for.      Mu-t  go  all  the  -a ." 

'•  But  I'm  quite  ready  to  go,  m\  lord,"  re- 
joined Walpole,  angrily,     "There  is  no  need 

to  insist  so  often  on  that  point." 

"Who  talks — who  thinks  of  yout  Sir?"  cried 
the  Other,  v\ith  an  irritated  manner.      "I  speak 

of  myself,  it  Is  /  mu-t  resign— no  great  sacri- 
fice, perhaps,  after  till — stupid  office,  fal-e  po- 
sition— impracticable    people         .Make    ibeiu    all 

Papists   to-marrow,  and   ask    to  be   Hindoos. 

They've  got  the  land,  and  not  content  if  they 

can't  shoot  the  landlords  !" 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"If  you  think,  my  lord,  that  by  any  personal 
explanation  of  mine  I  could  enable  the  minis- 
ter to  make  his  answer  in  the  House  more  plau- 
sible— " 

"  Leave  the  plausibility  to  himself,  Sir;"  and 
then  he  added,  half  aloud,  "He'll  be  unintelli- 
gible enough  without  you.  There,  go  and  get 
some  breakfast.  Come  back  afterward,  and  111 
dictate  my  letter  of  resignation.  Maude  has 
had  a  letter  from  Atlee.  Shrewd  fellow,  Atlee 
— done  the  thing  well." 

As  Walpole  was  near  the  door,  his  Excellen- 
cy said,  "You  can  have  Guatemala,  if  they 
have  not  given  it  away.  It  will  get  you  out  of 
Europe,  which  is  the  first  thing,  and  with  the 
yellow  fever  it  may  do  more." 

"  I'm  profoundly  grateful,  my  lord,"  said  he, 
bowing  low. 

"  Maude,  of  course,  would  not  go,  so  it  ends 
that." 

"I  am  deeply  touched  by  the  interest  your 
lordship  vouchsafes  to  my  concerns." 

"Try  and  live  five  years,  and  you'll  have  a 
retiring  allowance.  The  last  fellow  did,  but 
was  eaten  by  a  crocodile  out  bathing."  And 
with  this  he  resumed  his  Times,  and  turned 
away,  while  Walpole  hastened  oft'  to  his  room, 
in  a  frame  of  mind  very  far  from  comfortable 
or  reassuring. 


CHAPTER  LII. 
"a  chance  agreement." 

As  Dick  Kearney  and  young  O'Shea  had  nev- 
er attained  any  close  intimacy,  a  strange  sort  of 
half  jealousy,  inexplicable  as  to  its  cause,  served 
to  keep  them  apart ;  it  was  by  mere  accident  that 
the  two  young  men  met  one  morning  after  break- 
fast in  the  garden,  and  on  Kearney's  offer  of  a  ci- 
gar, the  few  words  that  followed  led  to  a  conver- 
sation : 

"  I  can  not  pretend  to  give  you  a  choice  Ha- 
vana, like  one  of  Walpole's,"  said  Dick,  "  but 
you'll  perhaps  find  it  smokable." 

"I'm  not  difficult,"  said  the  other;  "and  as 
to  Mr.  Walpole's  tobacco,  I  don't  think  I  ever 
tasted  it." 

"  And  I,"  rejoined  the  other,  "  as  seldom  as  I 
could — I  mean, only  when  politeness  obliged  me." 

"I  thought  you  liked  him?"  said  Gorman, 
shortly. 

"  I  ?     Far  from  it.     I  thought  him  a  consum- 
mate puppy,  and  I  saw  that  he  looked  down  on 
us  as  inveterate  savages. " 
.     "He  was  a  favorite  with  your  ladies,  I  think  ?" 

"Certainly  not  with  my  sister,  and  I  doubt 
very  much  with  my  cousin.     Did  you  like  him  ?"' 

"  No,  not  at  all ;  but  then  he  belongs  to  a  class 
of  men  I  neither  understand  nor  sympathize 
with.  Whatever  I  know  of  life  is  associated  with 
downright  hard  work.  As  a  soldier,  I  had  my 
five  hours'  daily  drill  and  the  care  of  my  equip- 
ments ;  as  a  lieutenant,  I  had  to  see  that  my  men 
kept  to  their  duty ;  and  whenever  I  chanced  to 
have  a  little  leisure  I  could  not  give  it  up  to 
ennui,  or  consent  to  feel  bored  and  wearied." 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  say  you  had  to  groom 
your  horse  and  clean  your  arms  when  you  served 
in  the  ranks  ?" 

"Not  always.  As  a  cadet,  I  had  a  soldier- 
servant — what  we  call  a  'Eursche' — but  there 


were  pei'iods  when  I  was  out  of  funds,  and  bare- 
ly able  to  grope  my  way  to  the  next  quarter-day, 
and  at  these  times  I  had  but  one  meal  a  day,  and 
was  obliged  to  draw  my  waist-belt  pretty  tight  to 
make  me  feel  I  had  eaten  enough.  A  Bursclie 
costs  very  little,  but  I  could  not  spare  even  that 
little." 

"  Confoundedly  hard,  that." 

' '  All  my  own  fault.  By  a  little  care  and  fore- 
sight, even  without  thrift,  I  had  enough  to  live 
as  well  as  I  ought ;  but  a  reckless  dash  of  the  old 
spendthrift  blood  I  came  of  would  master  me 
now  and  then,  and  I'd  launch  out  into  some  ex- 
travagance that  would  leave  me  penniless  for 
months  after." 

"I  believe  I  can  understand  that.  One  does 
get  horribly  bored  by  the  monotony  of  a  well-to- 
do  existence:  just  as  I  feel  my  life  here — almost 
insupportable." 

"  But  you  are  going  into  Parliament ;  you  are 
going  to  be  a  great  public  man." 

"That  bubble  has  burst  already;  don't  you 
know  what  happened  at  Birr  ?  They  tore  down 
all  Miller's  notices  and  mine ;  they  smashed  our 
booths,  beat  our  voters  out  of  the  town,  and 
placed  Donogan — the  rebel  Donogan — at  the 
head  of  the  poll,  and  the  head-centre  is  now  M.P. 
for  King's  County." 

"  And  has  he  a  right  to  sit  in  the  House  ?" 

"There's  the  question.  The  matter  is  dis- 
cussed every  day  in  the  newspapers,  and  there 
are  as  many  for  as  against  him.  Some  aver  that 
the  popular  will  is  a  sovereign  edict  that  rises 
above  all  eventualities ;  others  assert  that  the  sen- 
tence which  pronounces  a  man  a  felon  declares 
him  to  be  dead  in  law." 

"And  which  side  do  you  incline  to  ?" 

"  I  believe  in  the  latter ;  he'll  not  be  permitted 
to  take  his  seat." 

"  You'll  have  another  chance,  then  ?" 

"No;  I'll  venture  no  more.  Indeed,  but  for 
this  same  man,  Donogan,  I  had  never  thought  of 
it.  He  filled  my  head  with  ideas  of  a  great  part 
to  be  played,  and  a  proud  place  to  be  occupied  ; 
and  that,  even  without  high  abilities,  a  man  of  a 
strong  will,  a  fixed  resolve,  and  an  honest  con- 
science might,  at  this  time,  do  great  things  for 
Ireland." 

"And  then  betrayed  you?" 

"  No  such  thing :  he  no  more  dreamed  of  Par- 
liament himself  than  you  do  now.  He  knew  he 
was  liable  to  the  law,  he  was  hiding  from  the  po- 
lice, and  well  aware  that  there  was  a  price  upon 
his  head." 

"  But  if  he  was  true  to  you,  why  did  he  not 
refuse  this  honor?  why  did  he  not  decline  to  be 
elected  ?" 

"  They  never  gave  him  the  choice.  Don't  you 
see  it  is  one  of  the  strange  signs  of  the  times  we 
are  living  in  that  the  people  fix  upon  certain 
men  as  their  natural  leaders,  and  compel  them  to 
march  in  the  van,  and  that  it  is  the  force  at  the 
back  of  these  leaders  that,  far  more  than  their 
talents,  makes  them  formidable  in  public  life  ?" 

"  I  only  follow  it  in  part.  I  scarcely  see  what 
they  aim  at,  and  I  do  not  know  if  they  see  it 
more  clearly  themselves.  And  now  what  will 
you  turn  to?" 

"I  wish  you  could  tell  me." 

"About  as  blank  a  future  as  my  own!"  mut- 
tered Gorman. 

"Come,  come,  you  have  a  career:  you  are  a 


LOW)  KILOOBBIN. 


i;)3 


lieutenant  of  lancers  j  in  time  you  will  be  a  cap* 
tain,  and  eventually  a  colonel,  and  wlio  knows 

but  a  general  at  last,  with  Heaven  knows  how 
many  crosses  and  medals  on  your  breasl  ?" 

"Nothing  less  likely:  the  day  is  gone  by 
when  Englishmen  were  advanced  to  places  of 
high  honor  and  trust  in  the  Austrian  army. 
There  are  do  more  field-marshals  like  Nugent 
than  major-generals  like  O'Connell.  I  might  be 
made  a  drill meister.  and  if  I  lived  long  enough, 
and  was  not  superannuated,  a  major;  but  there 
my  ambition  must  cease." 

••  And  you  are  content  with  that  prospect?" 

"Of  course  I  am  not.  I  go  back  to  it  with 
something  little  short  of  despair." 

•'  Why  go  hack,  then?"' 

"Tell  me  what  else  to  do — tell  me  what  other 
road  in  life  to  take — show-  me  even  one  alterna- 
tive." 

The  silence  that  now  succeeded  lasted  several 
minutes,  each  immersed  in  his  own  thoughts, 
and  each  doubtless  convinced  how  little  presump- 
tion he  had  to  advise  or  counsel  the  other. 

"Do  you  know,  O'Shea,"  cried  Kearney.  "  I 
I  used  to  fancy  that  this  Austrian  life  of  yours 
was  a  mere  caprice — that  you  took  'a  cast.'  as 
we  call  it  in  the  hunting  field,  among  those  fel- 
lows, to  see  what  they  were  like  and  what  sort  of 
an  existence  was  theirs — but  that  being  your 
aunt's  heir,  and  with  a  snug  estate  that  must 
one  day  come  to  you,  it  was  a  mere  'lark,'  and 
not  to  be  continued  beyond  a  year  or  two?" 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  I  never  presumed  to  think 
I  should  be  my  aunt's  heir — and  now  less  than 
ever.  Do  you  know  that  even  the  small  pension 
she  has  allowed  me  hitherto  is  now  about  to  be 
withdrawn,  and  I  shall  be  left  to  live  on  my  pay  ?" 

"  How  much  does  that  mean?" 

•■  A  few  pounds  more  or  less  than  you  pay  for 
your  saddle-horse  at  livery  at  Dycers'." 

"You  don't  mean  that?" 

"I  do  mean  it,  and  even  that  beggarly  pit- 
tance is  stopped  when  I  am  on  my  leave  ;  so  that 
at  this  moment  my  whole  worldly  wealth  is  here," 
and  he  took  from  his  pocket  a  handful  of  loose 
coin,  in  which  a  few  gold  pieces  glittered  amidst 
a  mass  of  discolored  and  smooth-looking  silver. 

"  On  my  oath,  I  believe  you  are  the  richer 
man  of  the  two."  cried  Kearney  ;  "  for  except  a 
few  half  crowns  on  my  dressing-table,  and  some 
coppers,  I  don't  believe  I  am  master  of  a  coin 
with  the  Queen's  image." 

"  I  say,  Kearney,  what  a  horrible  take-in  we 
should  prove  to  mothers  with  daughters  to 
marry!" 

11  Not  a  bit  of  it.  You  may  impose  upon  any 
one  else — your  tailor,  your  boot-maker,  even  the 
horsey  gent  that  jobs  your  cabriolet,  but  you'll 
never  cheat  the  mamma  who  has  a  daughter  on 
sale." 

Gorman  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  more 
than  ordinary  irritability  with  which  these  words 
were  spoken,  and  charged  him  at  last  witli  hav- 
ing uttered  a  personal  experience. 

"True,  after  alii"  said  Dick,  half  indolently. 
"  I  used  to  spoon  a  pretty  girl  up  in  Dublin,  ride 
with  her  when  I  could,  and  dance  with  her  at  all 
the  balls;  and  a  certain  chum  of  mine,  a  Joe 
Atlee — of  whom  you  may  have  heard — under- 
took, simply  by  a  series  of  artful  rumors  as  to 
my  future  prospects — now  extolling  me  a-  a  man 
of  fortune  and  a  tine  estate,  to-morrow  exhibit- 


ing me  as  a  mere  pretender  with  a  mock  title 
and  mock  income — to  determine  how  1  should 
lie  Heated  in  this  family;  and  be  would  BBJ  to 
me.  -  Dick,  yon  are  going  to  be  asked  to  dinner 
on  Saturday  next  ;'  or.  '  1  say,  old  fellow,  they're 
going  to  leave  you  out  of  thai    pieiiie  ;it    l'owles 

Court,  You'll  find  the  Clanceys  rather  cold  at 
your  next  meeting."1 

"  And  he  would  be  right  in  bis  gueSS?" 

"To  the  letter!  Ay.  and  I  shame  to  say  that 
the  young  girl  answered  the  signal  as  promptly 
as  the  mother." 

"I  hope  it  cured  you  of  your  passion?" 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  did.  When  you  begin 
to  like  a  girl,  and  find  that  she  has  regularly  in- 
stalled herself  in  a  corner  of  your  heart,  there  is 
scarcely  a  thing  she  can  do  you'll  not  discover  a 
good  reason  for,  and  even  when  your  ingenuity 
fails,  go  and  pay  a  visit;  there  is  some  artful 
witchery  in  that  creation  you  have  built  op  about 
her — for  I  heartily  believe  most  of  us  are  merely 
clothing  a  sort  of  lay  figure  of  loveliness  with 
attributes  of  our  fancy — and  the  end  of  it  is.  we 
are  about  as  wise  about  our  idols  as  the  South 
Sea  savages  in  their  homage  to  the  gods  of  their 
own  carving. " 

"1  don't  think  that!"  said  Gorman,  sternly. 
"I  could  no  more  invent  the  fascination  that 
charms  me  than  I  could  model  a  Venus  or  an 
Ariadne." 

"I  see  where  your  mistake  lies.  You  do  all 
this,  and  never  know  you  do  it.  Mind.  I  am 
only  giving  you  Joe  Atlee's  theory  all  this  time ; 
for,  though  I  believe  in,  I  never  invented  it." 

"  And  who  is  Atlee?" 

"A  chum  of  mine — a  clever  dog  enough — 
who,  as  he  says  himself,  takes  a  very  low  opin- 
ion of  mankind,  and,  in  consequence,  finds  this 
a  capital  world  to  live  in." 

"I  should  hate  the  fellow." 

"Not  if  you  met  him.  lie  can  be  very  com- 
panionable, though  I  never  saw  any  one  take  less 
trouble  to  please.  He  is  popular  almost  every 
where." 

"  I  know  I  should  hate  him." 

"My  cousin  Nina  thought  the  same,  and  de- 
clared from  the  mere  sight  of  his  photograph  that 
he  was  false  and  treacherous,  and  Heaven  knows 
what  else  besides,  and  now  she'll  not  sutler  a 
I  word  in  his  disparagement.  She  began  exactly 
las  you  say  you  would,  by  a  strong  prejudice 
|  against  him.  I  remember,  the  day  be  came  down 
here,  her  manner  toward  him  was  more  than 
distant,  and  I  told  my  sister  Kate  how  it  of- 
fended me,  and  Kate  only  smiled  and  said, 
'  Have  a  little  patience,  Dick.'" 

"And  you  took  the  advice?  You  did  have  a 
little  patience?" 

"Yes;  and  the  end  is,  they  are  linn  friends. 
I'm  not  sure  they  don't  correspond." 

"'  Is  there  love  in  the  case,  then  P" 

"That  is  what   I  can  not  make  out.      So  far 

as  I  know  either  of  them,  there  is  no  trustful- 
ness in  their  dispositions  ;  each  of  them  mast  see 

into  the  nature  of  the  other.      1  have  beard  doc 
Atlee  say,  'With  that  woman  for  a  wife,  a  man  i 
might  safely  bet  on  his  BUCCCSS  in  life.'     And  she 
herself  one  day  owned,  '  If  a  girl  was  obligt  d  to 

marry  a  man  without  sixpence,  she  might  take 
'  Atlee.'" 

"So — I  have  it;  they  will  be  man  and  wife 
.  vet !" 


134 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"  Who  knows !     Have  another  weed  ?" 

Gorman  declined  the  offered  cigar,  and  again 
a  pause  in  the  conversation  followed.  At  last 
he  suddenly  said,  "She  told  me  she  thought  she 
would  many  Walpole. " 

"  She  told  you  that  ?  How  did  it  come  about 
to  make  you  such  a  confidence?" 

"Just  this  way:  I  was  getting  a  little — not 
spooney,  but  attentive,  and  rather  liked  hanging 
after  her,  and  in  one  of  our  walks  in  the  wood — 
and  there  was  no  flirting  at  the  time  between  us 
— she  suddenly  said,  '  I  don't  think  you  are  half 
a  bad  fellow,  lieutenant. '  '  Thanks  for  the  com- 
pliment,' said  I,  coldly.  She  never  heeded  my 
remark,  but  went  on.  '  I  mean,  in  fact,  that  if 
you  had  something  to  live  for,  and  somebody  to 
care  about,  there  is  just  the  sort  of  stuff  in  you 
to  make  you  equal  to  both.'  Not  exactly  know- 
ing what  I  said,  and  half,  only  half  in  earnest, 
I  answered,  'Why  can  I  not  have  one  to  care 
for  ?' »  And  I  looked  tenderly  into  her  eyes  as  I 
spoke.  She  did  not  wince  under  my  glance. 
Her  face  was  calm,  and  her  color  did  not  change, 
and  she  was  full  a  minute  before  she  said,  with 
a  faint  sigh,  '  I  suppose  I  shall  marry  Cecil  Wal- 
pole.' 'Do  yon  mean,'  said  I,  'against  your 
will  ?'  '  Who  told  you  I  had  a  will,  Sir  ?'  said 
she,  haughtily ;  '  or  that,  if  I  had,  I  should  now 
be  walking  here  in  this  wood  alone  with  you? 
No,  no,'  added  she,  hurriedly,  'you  can  not  un- 
derstand me.  There  is  nothing  to  be  offended 
at.  Go  and  gather  me  some  of  those  wild  flow- 
ers, and  we'll  talk  of  something  else.'  " 

"How  like  her! — how  like  her!"  said  Dick, 
and  then  looked  sad  and  pondered.  "  I  was 
very  near  falling  in  love  with  her  myself,"  said 
he,  after  a  considerable  pause. 

"She  has  a  way  of  curing  a  man  if  he  should 
get  into  such  an  indiscretion,"  muttered  Gor- 
man ;  and  there  was  bitterness  in  his  voice  as  he 
spoke. 

"Listen!  listen  to  that!"  and  from  the  open 
window  of  the  house  there  came  the  prolonged 
cadence  of  a  full,  sweet  voice,  as  Nina  was  sing- 
ing an  Irish  ballad  air.  "  That's  for  my  father  : 
'Kathleen  Mavourneen'  is  one  of  his  favorites, 
and  she  can  make  him  cry  over  it." 

"  I'm  not  very  soft-hearted,"  muttered  Gor- 
man, "but  she  gave  me  such  a  sense  of  fullness 
in  the  throat,  like  choking,  the  other  day,  that  I 
vowed  to  myself  I'd  never  listen  to  that  song 
again."   . 

"It  is  not  her  voice — it  is  not  the  music; 
there  is  some  witchery  in  the  woman  herself  that 
does  it!"  cried  Dick,  almost  fiercely.     "  Take  a 
walk  with  her  in  the  wood,  saunter  down  one  of  j 
these  alleys  in  the  garden,  and  I'll  be  shot  if 
your  heart  will  not  begin  to  beat  in  another  fash-  j 
ion,  and  your  brain  to  weave  all  sorts  of  bright 
fancies,  in  which  she  will  form  the  chief  figure ; 
and  though  you'll  be  half  inclined  to  declare  i 
your  love,  and  swear  that  you  can  not  live  with-  j 
out  her,  some  terror  will  tell  you  not  to  break 
the  spell  of  your  delight,  but  to  go  on  walking  ' 
there  at  her  side  and  hearing  her  words  just  as 
though  that  ecstasy  could  last  forever." 

"I  suspect  you  are  in  love  with  her,"  said 
O'Shea,  dryly. 

"  Not  now,  not  now:  and  I'll  take  care  not  to 
have  a  relapse,"  said  he,  gravely. 

"  How  do  you  mean  to  manage  that?" 

"The  only  one  way  it  is  possible — not  to  see 


her,  nor  to  hear  her;  not  to  live  in  the  same 
land  with  her.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  go 
to  Australia.  I  don't  well  know  what  to  do 
when  I  get  there ;  but  whatever  it  be,  and  what- 
ever it  cost  me  to  bear,  I  shall  meet  it  without 
shrinking,  for  there  will  be  no  old  associates  to 
look  on  and  remark  upon  my  shabby  clothes  and 
broken  boots." 

"What  will  the  passage  cost  you  ?"  asked  Gor- 
man, eagerly. 

"I  have  ascertained  that  for  about  fifty  pounds 
I  can  land  myself  in  Melbourne,  and  if  I  have  a 
ten-pound  note  after,  it  is  as  much  as  I  mean  to 
provide." 

"  If  I  can  raise  the  money,  I'll  go  with  you," 
said  O'Shea. 

"  Will  you?  is  this  serious?  is  it  a  promise?" 

"I  pledge  my  word  on  it.  I'll  go  over  to  the 
Barn  to-day  and  see  my  aunt.  I  thought,  up  to 
this,  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  go  there,  but  I 
will  now.  It  is  for  the  last  time  in  my  life,  and  I 
must  say  good-by,  whether  she  helps  me  or  not." 

"You'll  scarcely  like  to  ask  her  for  money," 
said  Dick. 

"Scarcely — at  all  events,  I'll  see  her,  and  I'll 
tell  her  that  I'm  going  away,  with  no  other 
thought  in  my  mind  than  of  all  the  love  and  af 
fection  she  had  for  me — worse  luck  mine  that  I 
have  not  got  them  still." 

"  Shall  I  walk  over  with —  Would  you  rather 
be  alone  V" 

"I  believe  so;  I  think  I  should  like  to  be 
alone." 

"Let  us  meet,  then,  on  this  spot  to-morrow, 
and  decide  what  is  to  be  done  ?" 

"  Agreed,"  cried  O'Shea;  and  with  a  warm 
shake-hands  to  ratify  the  pledge,  they  parted; 
Dick  walking  toward  the  lower  part  of  the  gar- 
den, while  O'Shea  turned  toward  the  house. 


CHAPTER  LIII. 


A    SCRAPE. 


We  have  all  of  us  felt  how  depressing  is  the 
sensation  felt  in  a  family  circle  in  the  first  meet- 
ing after  the  departure  of  their  guests.  The 
friends  who  have  been  staying  some  time  in 
your  house  not  only  bring  to  the  common 
stock  their  share  of  pleasant  converse  and  com- 
panionship, but,  in  the  quality  of  strangers,  they 
exact  a  certain  amount  of  effort  for  their  amuse- 
ment which  is  better  for  him  who  gives  than  for 
the  recipient,  and  they  impose  that  small  reserve 
which  excludes  the  purely  personal  inconven- 
iences and  contrarieties,  which  unhappily  in  sti  ict- 
ly  family  intercourse  have  no  small  space  allotted 
them  for  discussion. 

It  is  but  right  to  say  that  they  who  benefit 
most  by,  and  most  gratefully  acknowledge,  this 
boon  of  the  visitors  are  the  voting.  The  elders, 
sometimes  more  disposed  to  indolence  than  effort, 
sometimes  irritable  at  the  check  essentially  put 
upon  many  little  egotisms  of  daily  use,  and  oft- 
ener  than  either,  perhaps,  glad  to  get  back  to  the 
old  groove  of  home  discussion,  unrestrained  by 
the  presence  of  strangers — the  elders,  I  say,  are 
now  and  then  given  to  express  a  most  ungracious 
gratitude  for  being  once  again  to  themselves,  and 
free  to  lie  as  confidential  and  outspoken  and  dis- 
agreeable as  their  hearts  desire. 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


I.::, 


The  dinner  at  Kflgobbin  Castle  on  the  day  I 
speak  of  consisted  solely  of  the  Kearney  family, 
and  except  in  the  person  of  the  old  man  himself, 
no  trace  of  pleasantry  could  be  detected.  Kate 
had  her  own  share  of  anxieties.  A  number  of 
notices  had  been  served  by  refractory  tenants  for 
demands  they  were  about  to  prefer  for  improve- 
ments under  the  new  land  act.  The  passion  for 
litigation  so  dear  to  the  Irish  peasant's,  heart — 
that  sense  of  having  something  to  be  quibbled 
for  so  exciting  to  the  imaginative  nature  of  the 
Celt — had  taken  possession  of  all  the  tenants  on 
the  estate,  and  even  the  well-to-do  and  the  satis- 
fied were  now  bestirring  themselves  to  think  if 
they  had  not  some  grievance  to  be  turned  into 
profit,  and  some  possible  hardship  to  be  discount- 
ed into  an  abatement. 

Dick  Kearney,  entirely  preoccupied  by  the 
thought  of  his  intended  journey,  already  began 
to  feel  that  the  things  of  home  touched  him  no 
longer.  A  few  months  more  and  he  should  be 
far  away  from  Ireland  and  her  interests,  and  why 
should  he  harass  himself  about  the  contests  of 
party  or  the  balance  of  factions,  which  never 
again  could  have  any  bearing  on  his  future  life? 
His  whole  thought  was  what  arrangement  he 

could  make  with  his  father  by  which,  fur  a  lit- 
tle present  assistance,  he  might  surrender  all  his 
right  un  the  entail,  and  give  up  Kilgobbin  forever. 
As  for  Nina,  her  complexities  were  too  many 
and  too  much  interwoven  for  our  investigation, 
and  there  were  thoughts  of  all  the  various  per- 
sons she  had  met  in  Ireland,  mingled  with  scenes 
of  the  past,  and.  more  strangely  still,  tin'  people 

placed  in  situations  and  connections  which  by  no 
likelihood  should  they  ever  have  occupied.      I'll" 

thought  that  the  little  comedy  of  everyday  lite, 
which  abe  relished  immensely,  "as  now  to  cease 

for  lack  of  actors  made  her  Berious — almost  sad 
— and  she  seldom  spoke  during  the  meal. 

At  Lord  Kilgobbin's  request  that  they  would 
not  leave  him  to  take  his  wine  alone,  they  drew 
their  chairs  round  the  dining-room  tire  ;   but,  ex- 


cept  the  bright  glow  of  the  ruddy  turf  and  the 

pleasant   look  of  the  old  man   himself,  there  was 

little  that  Bmacked  of  the  agreeable  fireside. 

'•  What  has  come  overyou  girls  this  evening?" 
said  the  old  man.  "Arc  you  in  love,  or  has  the 
man  that  ought  to  be  in  love  with  either  of  you 

discovered  it  was  only  a  mistake  he  was  making?" 

••  A>k  Nina.  Sir,'  said  Kate,  gravely. 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,  uncle,"  .-aid  Nina, 
dreamily. 

"In  which  of  my  guesses — the  first  or  the 
last  ?" 

"Don't  puzzle  me.  Sir.  for  I  have  no  head  for 
a  subtile  distinction.  I  only  meant  to  say  it  is 
not  so  easy  to  he  in  love  without  mistakes.  You 
mistake  realities  and  traits  for  something  not  a 
bit  like  them,  and  you  mistake  yourself  by  im- 
agining that  you  mind  them." 

"  I  don't  think  I  understand  you,"  said  the 
old  man. 

"  Very  likely  not,  Sir.  I  do  not  know  if  I  had 
a  meaning  that  I  could  explain." 

"Nina  wants  to  tell  you,  my  lord,  that  the 
right  man  has  not  come  forward  yet.  and  she 
does  not  know  whether  she'll  keep  the  place  open 
in  her  heart  for  him  any  longer,"  said  Dick,  with 
a  half-malicious  glance. 

"That  terrible  cousin  Dick!  nothing  escapes 
him."  said  Nina,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"Is  there  any  more  in  the  newspapers  about 
that  scandal  of  the  government  ?"  cried  the  old 
man,  turning  to  Kate.  "  Is  there  not  going  to 
be  some  inquiry  as  to  whether  his  Excellency 
wrote  to  the  Fenians?" 

"There  are  a  few  words  here,  papa,"  cried 
Kate,  opening  the  paper.  "In  reply  to  the 
question  of  Sir  Barnes  Malone  as  to  the  late 
communications  alleged  to  have  passed  between 
the  head  of  the  Irish  government  and  the  head- 
centre  of  the  Fenians,  the  Right  Honorable  the 
First  Lord  of  the  Treasury  said,  'That  the  ques- 
tion would  he  more  properly  addressed  to  the 

noble   lord   the   Secretary   tor   Ireland,   who   was 

not  then  in  the  House.      Meanwhile,  Sir."  contin- 

I  tied  he,  'I  will  take  on  myself  the  responsibility  of 

Baying  that  in  this,  as  in  a  variety  of  other  cases, 

the  zeal  of  party  has  greatly  outstripped  the  dis- 
|  cretiou  that  should  govern  political  warfare.  The 
exceptional  state  of  a  nation,  in  which  the  admin- 
istration of  justice  mainly  depends  on  those  aids 
which  a  rigid  morality  might  disparage — the  so- 
cial state  of  a  people  whose  integrity  calls  for  the 

application  of  means  the  most  certain  to  dissemi- 
nate distrust  and  disunion — are  facts  which  con- 
stitute reasons  for  political  action  that,  however 
assailable  in  the  mere  abstract,  the  mind  of  States- 
manlike form  will  at  once  accept  as  solid  and 
effective,  and  to  reject    which    would   only    show 

that,  in  overlooking  the  consequences  of  senti 
ment,  a  man  can  ignore  the  most  vital  interests 

of  his  country.'  " 

••  Docs  he  say  that  they  wrote  to  Donogan?" 
cried  Kilgobbin,  whose  patience  had  been  sorely 
pushed  by  the  Premier's  exordium. 

••  Let  me  read  on,  papa." 

"  Ski])  all  that,  and  get  down  to  a  simple 
question  and  an>wcr,   Kitty;  don't  read  the  long 

sentences." 

"This  is  how  he  winds  up.  papa.  '  I  trust  I 
have  now.  Sir,  satisfied  the  Iloii-e  that  there  are 
abundant  reasons  w  by  this  Correspondence  should 
not  be  produced  on  the   table,  while  I  have  fur- 


136 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


ther  justified  my  noble  friend  for  a  course  of  ac-  I 
tion  in  which  the  humanity  of  the  man  takes  no  i 
lustre  from  the  glory  of  the  statesman' — then  I 
there  are  some  words  in  Latin — 'and  the  right 
hon.  gentleman  resumed  his  seat  amidst  loud 
cheers,  in  which  some  of  the  Opposition  were 
heard  to  join. '  " 

"  I  want  to  be  told,  after  all,  did  they  write 
the  letter  to  say  Donogan  was  to  be  let  escape  ?" 

"  Would  it  have  been  a  great  crime,  uncle?" 
said  Nina,  artlessly. 

"I'm  not  going  into  that.  I'm  only  asking 
what  the  people  over  us  say  is  the  best  way  to 
govern  us.  I'd  like  to  know,  once  for  all,  what 
was  wrong  and  what  was  right  in  Ireland." 

"  Has  not  the  Premier  just  told  you,  Sir,"  re- 
plied Nina,  "  that  it  is  always  the  reverse  of 
what  obtains  every  where  else  ?" 

"I  have  had  enough  of  it,  anyhow,"  cried 
Dick,  who,  though  not  intending  it  before,  now 
was  carried  away  by  a  momentary  gust  of  pas- 
sion to  make  the  avowal. 

"  Have  you  been  in  the  cabinet  all  this  time, 
then,  without  our  knowing  it  ?"  asked  Nina, 
archly. 

"  It  is  not  of  the  cabinet  I  was  speaking, 
mademoiselle.  It  was  of  the  country."  And  he 
answered  haughtily. 

"And  where  would  you  go,  Dick,  and  find 
better  ?"  said  Kate. 

"  Any  where.  I  should  find  better  in  Amer- 
ica, in  Canada,  in  the  far  West,  in  New  Zealand 
— but  I  mean  to  try  in  Australia." 

"  And  what  will  you  do  when  you  get  there?" 
asked  Kilgobbin,  with  a  grim  humor  in  his  look. 

"Do  tell  me,  Cousin  Dick,  for  who  knows 
that  it  might  not  suit  me  also  ?" 

Young  Kearney  filled  his  glass,  and  drained  it 
without  speaking.  At  last  he  said,  "It  will  be 
for  you,  ISir,  to  say  if  I  make  the  trial.  It  is 
clear  enough  I  have  no  course  open  to  me  here. 
For  a  few  hundred  pounds,  or,  indeed,  for  any 
thing  you  like  to  give  me,  you  get  rid  of  me  for- 
ever. It  will  be  the  one  piece  of  economy  my 
whole  life  comprises." 

"  Stay  at  home,  Dick,  and  give  to  your  own 
country  the  energy  you  are  willing  to  bestow  on 
a  strange  land,"  said  Kate. 

"And  labor  side  by  side  with  the  peasant  I 
have  looked  down  upon  since  I  was  able  to  walk. " 

"  Don't  look  down  on  him,  then — do  it  no 
longer.  If  you  would  treat  the  first  stranger  you 
met  in  the  bush  as  your  equal,  begin  the  Chris- 
tian practice  in  your  own  country." 

"But  he  needn't  do  that  at  all,"  broke  in  the 
old  man.  "  If  he  would  take  to  strong  shoes  and 
early  rising  here  at  Kilgobbin,  he  need  never  go 
to  Geelong  for  a  living.  Your  great-grandfa- 
thers lived  here  for  centuries,  and  the  old  house 
that  sheltered  them  is  still  standing. " 

"  What  should  I  stay  for — "  He  had  got 
thus  far  when  his  eyes  met  Nina's,  and  he 
stopped  and  hesitated,  and,  as  a  deep  blush  cov- 
ered his  face,  faltered  out,  "  Gorman  O'Shea 
says  he  is  ready  to  go  with  me,  and  two  fellows 
with  less  to  detain  them  in  their  own  country 
would  be  hard  to  find. " 

"O'Shea  will  do  well  enough,"  said  the  old 
man;  "he  was  not  brought  up  to  kid-leather 
boots  and  silk  linings  in  his  great-coat.  There's 
stuff  in  him,  and  if  it  comes  to  sleeping  under  a 
hay-stack  or  dining  on  a  red  herring  he'll  not  rise 


up  with  rheumatism  or  heart-burn.  And,  what's 
better  than  all,  he'll  not  think  himself  a  hero  be- 
cause he  mends  his  own  boots  or  lights  his  own 
kitchen  fire." 

' '  A  letter  for  your  honor, "  said  the  servant, 
entering  with  a  very  informal-looking  note  on 
coarse  paper,  and  fastened  with  a  wafer.  "  The 
gossoon,  Sir,  is  waiting  for  an  answer ;  he  run 
every  mile  from  Moate." 

"  Read  it,  Kitty,"  said  the  old  man,  not  heed- 
ing the  servant's  comment. 

"It  is  dated  '  Moate  Jail,  7  o'clock, ' "  said 
Kitty,  as  she  read  : 

"  'Dear  Sir, — I  have  got  into  a  stupid  scrape, 
and  have  been  committed  to  jail.  Will  you  come, 
or  send  some  one  to  bail  me  out  ?  The  thing  is 
a  mere  trifle,  but  the  "  being  locked  up"  is  very 
hard  to  bear.     Yours  always,     G.  O'Shea."' 

"  Is  this  more  Fenian  work  ?"  cried  Kilgobbin. 

"  I'm  certain  it  is  not,  Sir,"  said  Dick.  "Gor- 
man O'Shea  has  no  liking  for  them,  nor  is  he 
the  man  to  sympathize  with  what  he  owns  he 
can  not  understand.  It  is  a  mere  accidental 
row. " 

"  At  all  events,  we  must  see  to  set  him  at  lib- 
erty. Order  the  gig,  Dick,  and  while  they  are 
putting  on  the  harness  I'll  finish  this  decanter 
of  port.  If  it  wasn't  that  we're  getting  retired 
shop-keepers  on  the  bench  we'd  not  see  an  O'Shea 
sent  to  prison  like  a  gossoon  that  stole  a  bunch 
of  turnips." 

"What  has  he  been  doing,  I  wonder?"  said 
Nina,  as  she  drew  her  arm  within  Kate's  and 
left  the  room. 

"  Some  loud  talk  in  the  bar  parlor,  perhaps," 
was  Kate's  reply,  and  the  toss  of  her  head  as  she 
said  it  implied  more  even  than  the  words. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 
"how    it   befell." 

While  Lord  Kilgobbin  and  his  son  are  plod- 
ding along  toward  Moate  with  a  horse  not  long 
released  from  the  harrow,  and  over  a  road  which 
the  late  rains  had  sorely  damaged,  the  moment 
is  not  inopportune  to  explain  the  nature  of  the 
incident,  small  enough  in  its  way,  that  called  on 
them  for  this  journey  at  night-fall.  It  befell  that 
when  Miss  Betty,  indignant  at  her  nephew's  de- 
fection, and  outraged  that  he  should  descend  to 
call  at  Kilgobbin,  determined  to  cast  him  oft"  for- 
ever, she  also  resolved  upon  a  project  over  which 
she  had  long  meditated,  and  to  which  the  con- 
versation at  her  late  dinner  greatly  predisposed 
her. 

The  growing  unfertility  of  the  land,  the  sturdy 
rejection  of  the  authority  of  the  Church,  mani- 
fested in  so  many  ways  by  the  people,  had  led 
Miss  O'Shea  to  speculate  more  on  the  insecurity 
of  landed  property  in  Ireland  than  all  the  long 
list  of  outrages  scheduled  at  Assizes,  or  all  the 
burning  haggards  that  ever  flared  in  a  wintry 
sky.  Her  notion  was  to  retire  into  some  relig- 
ious sisterhood,  and,  away  from  life  and  its  cares, 
to  pass  her  remaining  years  in  holy  meditation 
and  piety.  She  would  have  liked  to  have  sold 
her  estate,  and  endowed  some  house  or  convent 
with  the  proceeds,  but  there  were  certain  legal 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


137 


difficulties  that  stood  in  t!ic  way,  and  her  law 
agent,  M'Keown,  must  lie  seen  and  conferred 
with  about  these. 

Her   moods   of  passion    were  usually  so  very 

fiolent  that  Bhe  would  stop  at  nothing;  and  in 
the  torrent  of  her  anger  Bhe  would  deride  on  a 
course  of  action   which  would  color  a  whole 

lifetime.  <  >u  the  |>re>ent  occasion  her  firs!  step 
was  t,i  write  ami  acquaint  M'Keown  thai  she 
would    be  at  Moodie's  Hotel.   Dominick  Street, 

the  same  evening,  and  begged   he  might  call 

there  at  eight  or  nine  o'clock,  as  her  business 
with  him  was  pressing.      Her  next   care  was  to 

let  the  house  and  lands  oft  ►'Shea's  Barn  to  Peter 

Gill,  for  the  term  of  one  year,  at  a  rent  scarcely 
more   than   nominal,  the  said  Gill  binding  him- 

selfto  maintain  the  gardens,  the  shrubberies,  and 
all  the  ornamental  plantings  in  their  accustomed 
order  and  condition.  In  fact,  the  extreme  mod- 
eration of  the  rent  was  to  he  recompensed  by  the 
large  space  allotted  to  unprofitable  land,  and  the 
great  care  he  was  pledged  to  exercise  in  its  pres- 
ervation; and  while  nominally  the  tenant,  so! 
manifold  were  the  obligations  imposed  on  him,  | 
he  was  in  reality  very  little  other  than  the  care- 
taker of  O'Shea'a  Earn  and  its  dependencies. 
No  femes  were  to  he  altered,  or  boundaries 
changed.  All  the  copses  of  young  timber  were 
to  be  carefully  protected  by  palings  as  heretofore, 
and  even  the  ornamental  cattle — the  short-horns, 
and  the  Alderheys,  and  a  few  favorite  "Kerries"  ; 
— were  to  be  kept  on  the  allotted  paddocks  ;  and 
to  old  Kattoo  herself  was  allotted  a  loose  box, 
with  a  small  field  attached  to  it,  where  she  might 
saunter  at  will,  and  ruminate  over  the  less  happy 
quadrupeds  that  had  to  work  for  their  subsist- 
ence. 

Now  though  Miss  Betty,  in  the  full  torrent  of 
her  anger,  had  that  much  of  method  in  her  mad- 
ness to  remember  the  various  details  whose  in- 
terests  were  the  business  of  her  daily  life,  and  so 
far  made  provision  for  the  future  of  her  pet  cows 
and  horses  and  dogs  and  Guinea-fowls,  so  that 
if  she  should  ever  resolve  to  return  she  should 
find  all  as  site  had  left  it — the  short  paper  of 
agreement  by  which  she  accepted  Gill  as  her 
tenant  was  drawn  up  by  her  own  hand,  unaided 
by  a  lawyer,  and,  whether  from  the  intemperate 
haste  of  the  moment  or  an  unbounded  confidence  j 
in  Gill's  honesty  and  fidelity,  was  not  only  care- 
lessly expressed,  but  worded  in  a  way  that  im- 
plied how  her  trustfulness  exonerated  her  from 
any  thing  beyond  the  expression  of  what  she 
wished  for  and  what  she  believed  her  tenant 
would  strictly  perform.  Gill's  repeated  phrase 
of  "whatever  her  honor's  ladyship  liked"  had 
followed  every  sentence  as  sle-  read  the  docu- 
ment aloud  to  him,  and  the  only  real  puzzle  she 
had  was  to  explain  to  the  poor  man's  simple 
comprehension  that  she  was  not  making  a  haul 
bargain  with  him.  hut  treating  him  handsomely 
and  in  all  confidence 

Shrewd  and  sharp  as  the  old  lady  was,  versed 
in  the  habits  of  the  people,  and  long  trained  to 
suspect  a  certain  air  of  dullness,  by  which,  when 
asking  the  explanation  of  a  point,  they  watch, 
with  a  native  casuistry,  to  see  what  Haw  or  clonk 
may  open  an  equivocal  meaning  or  intention, 
she  was  thoroughly  convinced  by  the  simple  and 
unreasoning  concurrence  this  humble  man  gave 
to  every  proviso,  and  the  hearty  assurance  he  al- 
ways gave  '•  that  her  honor  knew  what  was  best : 


God  reward  and  keep  her  long  in  the  way  to  do 

it!"— with  all  this.  Bliss  O'Shea  had  not  accom- 
plished the  first  stage  of  her  journey  to  Dublin 
when  Peter  Gill  was  seated  in  the  office  of  Pal 
M'Kvoy.  the  attorney  at  Moate.  a  smart  practi- 
tioner, who  had  done  more  to  foster  litigation 
between  tenant  and  landlord  than  all  the  "griev- 
ances" that  ever  were  placarded  by  the  press. 

"When  did  you  get  this.  Peter?"  said  the  at- 
torney, as  he  looked  about,  unable  to  find  a  date. 

"This  morning.  Sir,  just  before  she  started." 

"  You'll  have  to  come  before  a  magistrate  and 
make  an  oath  of  the  date;  and,  by  my  conscience, 
it's  worth  rhe  trouble." 

"  Why,  Sir,  what's  in  it  ?"  cried  Peter,  eagerly. 

"I'm  no  lawyer  if  she  hasn't  given  you  a  clear 
possession  of  the  place,  subject  to  certain  trusts, 
and  even  for  the  non-  performance  of  these 
there  is  no  penalty  attached.  When  Counselor 
Holmes  comes  down  at  the  Assizes  I'll  lay  a  case 
before  him,  and  I'll  wager  a  trifle,  Peter,  you 
will  turn  out  to  he  an  estated  gentleman." 

"Blood  alive!"  was  all  Peter  could  utter. 

Though  the  conversation  that  ensued  occupied 
more  than  an  hour,  it  is  not  necessary  that  we 
should  repeat  what  occurred,  nor  state  more 
than  the  fact  that  Peter  went  home  fully  assured 
that  if  O'Shea's  Barn  was  not  his  own  indisputa- 
bly, it  would  be  very  hard  to  dispossess  him,  and 
that,  at  all  events,  the  occupation  was  secure  to 
him  for  the  present.  The  importance  that  the 
law  always  attaches  to  possession  .Mr.  M'Kvoy 
took  care  to  impress  on  Gill's  mind,  and  he  fully 
convinced  him  that  a  forcible  seizure  of  the  prem- 
ises was  far  more  to  be  apprehended  than  the 
slower  process  of  a  suit  and  a  verdict. 

It  was  about  the  third  week  after  this  opinion 
had  been  given  when  young  O'Shea  walked  over 
from  Eilgobbin  Castle  to  the  Barn,  intending  to 
see  his  aunt  and  take  his  farewell  of  her. 

Though  be  had  steeled  his  heart  against  the 
emotions  such  a  leave-taking  was  likely  to  evoke, 
he  was  in  no  wise  prepared  for  the  feelings  the 
old  place  itself  would  call  up;  and  as  he  opened 
a  little  wicket  that  led  by  a  shrubbery  walk  to 
the  cottage  he  was  glad  to  throw  himself  on  the 
first  seat  he  could  find,  and  wait  till  his  heart 
could  beat  more  measuredly.  What  a  strange 
thing  was  life — at  least  that  conventional  life 
we  make  for  ourselves — was  bis  thought  now. 
"  Here  am  I  ready  to  cross  the  globe,  to  be  the 
servant,  the  laborer,  of  some  rude  settler  in  the 
wilds  of  Australia,  and  yet  I  can  not  be  the 
herdsman  here,  and  tend  the  cattle  in  the  scenes 
that  I  love,  where  every  tree,  every  bush,  every 
shady  nook,  and  every  running  stream  is  dear  to 
me.  I  can  not  serve  my  own  kith  and  kin,  but 
must  seek  my  bread  from  the  Stranger  I  This  is 
our  glorious  civilization.  I  should  like  to  hear 
in  what  consists  its  marvelous  advantage." 

And  then  he  began  to  think  of  those  men  of 
whom    he   had   often  heard,  gentlemen  ami  men 

of  refinement,  who  bad  gone  out  to  Australia. 

and  who.  in  all  the  drudgery  of  daily  labor — 
herding  cattle  on  the  plains,  or  conducting  droves 
of  horses  long  miles  away — still  managed  to  re- 
tain the  habits  of  their  better  days,  and  by  the 
instinct  of  the  breeding,  which  had  become  a 
nature,  to  keep  intact  in  their  hearts  the  thoughts 

and  the.  sympathies  and  the  affections  that  made 
them  gentlemen. 

"If  my  dear  aunt  only  knew  me  as  I  know 


138 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


myself,  she  would  let  me  stay  here  and  serve  her  I 
as  the  humblest  laborer  on  her  land.     I  can  see 
no  indignity  in  being  poor  and  faring  hardly.     I  i 
have   known  coarse  food  and  coarse  clothing, 
and  I  never  found  that  they  either  damped  my  ' 
courage  or  soured  my  temper/' 

It  might  not  seem  exactly  the  appropriate  mo- 
ment to  have  bethought  him  of  the  solace  of 
companionship  in  such  poverty,  but  somehow 
his  thoughts  did  take  that  flight,  and,  unwar- 
rantable as  was  the  notion,  he  fancied  himself 
returning  at  night-fall  to  his  lowly  cabin,  and  a 
certain  girlish  figure,  whom  our  reader  knows  as 
Kate  Kearney,  standing  watching  for  his  coming. 

There  was  no  one  to  be  seen  about  as  he  ap- 
proached the  house.     The  hall  door,  however,  I 
lay  open.     He  entered  and  passed  on  to  the  lit- 
tle breakfast  parlor  on  the  left.     The  furniture  | 
was  the  same  as  before,  but  a  coarse  fustian 
jacket  was  thrown  on  the  back  of  a  chair,  and  | 
a  clay  pipe  and  a  paper  of  tobacco  stood  on  the 
table.     While  he  was  examining  these  objects 
with  some  attention   a  very  ragged  urchin  of 
some  ten  or  eleven  years  entered  the  room  with 
a  furtive  step,  and  stood  watching  him.     From  '. 
this  fellow  all  that  he  could  hear  was  that  Miss  ! 
Betty  was  gone  away,  and  that  Peter  was  at  the 
Kilbeggan  market,  and  though  he  tried  various  ' 
questions,  no  other  answers  than  these  were  to  | 
be  obtained.      Gorman   now   tried    to   see   the 
drawing-room  and  the  library,  but  these,  as  well 
as  the  dining-room,  were  all  locked.     He  next 
essayed  the  bedrooms,  but  with  the  same  unsuc- 
eess"      At  length  he  turned  to  his  own  well- 
known    corner  —  the    well  -  remembered    little 
"green  room"  —  which    he  loved  to  think  his  I 
own.      This  too  was  locked ;    but  Gorman  re- 
membered that  by  pressing  the  door  underneath  | 
with  his  walking-stick  he  could  lift  the  bolt  from 
the  old-fashioned  receptacle  that  held  it,  and 
open  the  door.     Curious  to  have  a  last  look  at  a 
spot  dear  by  so  many  memories,  he  tried  the 
old  artifice,  and  succeeded. 

He  had  still  on  his  watch-chain  the  little  key 
of  an  old  marquetry  cabinet,  where  he  was  wont 
to  write;  and  now  he  was  determined  to  write 
a  last  letter  to  his  aunt  from  the  old  spot,  and 
send  her  his  good-by  from  the  very  corner  where 
he  had  often  come  to  wish  her  "good-night." 

He  opened  the  window  and  walked  out  on  the 
little  wooden  balcony,  from  which  the  view  ex-  j 
tended  over  the  lawn  and  the  broad  belt  of  wood 
that  fenced  the  demesne.      The  Sliebh  Bloom  j 
Mountain  shone  in  the  distance,  and  in  the  calm 
of  an  evening  sunlight  the  whole  picture  had 
something  in  its  silence  and  peacefulness  of  al-  , 
most  rapturous  charm. 

Who  is  there  among  us  that  has  not  felt  in 
walking  through  the  room  of  some  uninhabited 
house,  with  every  appliance  of  human  comfort 
strewn  about,  ease  and  luxury  within,  wavy  trees  ' 
and  sloping  lawn  or  eddying  waters  without — 
who,  in  seeing  all  these,  has  not  questioned  him- 
self as  to  why  this  should  be  deserted?  and  why 
is  there  none  to  taste  and  feel  all  the  blessedness 
of  such  a  lot  as  life  here  should  offer?  Is  not 
the  world  full  of  these  places  ?  Is  not  the  puzzle 
of  this  query  of  all  lands  and  of  all  peoples  ? 
That  ever-present  delusion  of  what  we  should  do,  J 
what  be,  if  we  were  aught  other  than  ourselves 
— how  happy,  how  contented,  how  unrepining, 
and  how  good  :  ay,  even  our  moral  nature  comes 


into  the  compact — this  delusion,  I  say,  besets 
most  of  us  through  life,  and  we  never  weary  of 
believing  how  cruelly  fate  has  treated  us,  and 
how  unjust  destiny  has  been  to  a  variety  of  good 
gifts  and  graces  which  are  doomed  to  die  un- 
recognized and  unrequited. 

I  will  not  go  to  the  length  of  saying  that  Gor- 
man O'Shea's  reflections  went  thus  far,  though 
they  did  go  to  the  extent  of  wondering  why  his 
aunt  had  left  this  lovely  spot,  and  asking  himself 
again  and  again  where  she  could  possibly  have 
found  any  thing  to  replace  it. 

"My  "dearest  aunt,"  wrote  he,  "in  my  own 
old  room,  at  the  dear  old  desk,  and  on  the  spot 
knitted  to  my  heart  by  happiest  memories,  I  sit 
down  to  send  you  my  last  good-by  ere  I  leave 
Ireland  forever. 

"  It  is  in  no  mood  of  passing  fretfulness  or 
impatience  that  I  resolve  to  go  and  seek  my  for- 
tune in  Australia.  As  I  feel  now,  believing  you 
are  displeased  with  me,  I  have  no  heart  to  go 
further  into  the  question  of  my  own  selfish  inter- 
ests, nor  say  why  I  resolve  to  give  up  soldiering, 
and  why  I  turn  to  a  new  existence.  Had  I  been 
to  you  what  I  have  hitherto  been — had  I  the  as- 
surance that  I  possessed  the  old  claim  on  your 
love  which  made  me  regard  you  as  a  dear  moth- 
er— I  should  tell  you  of  every  step  that  lias  led 
me  to  this  determination,  and  how  carefully  and 
anxiously  I  tried  to  study  what  might  be  the 
turning-point  of  my  life." 

When  he  had  written  thus  far,  and  his  eyes 
had  already  grown  glassy  with  the  tears  which 
would  force  their  way  across  them,  a  heavy  foot 
was  heard  on  the  stairs,  the  door  was  burst  rude- 
ly open,  and  Peter  Gill  stood  before  him. 

No  longer,  however,  the  old  peasant  in  shabby 
clothes,  and  with  his  look  half  shy,  half  syco- 
phantic, but  vulgarly  dressed  in  broadcloth  and 
bright  buttons,  a  tall  hat  on  his  head,  and  a 
crimson  cravat  round  his  neck.  His  face  was 
flushed,  and  his  eye  flashing  and  insolent,  so 
that  O'Shea  only  feebly  recognized  him  by  his 
voice. 

"Yon  thought  you'd  be  too  quick  for  me, 
young  man,"  said  the  fellow;  and  the  voice  in 
its  thickness  showed  he  had  been  drinking,  "and 
that  you  would  do  your  bit  of  writing  there  be- 
fore I'd  be  back,  but  I  was  up  to  you." 

"  I  really  do  not  know  what  you  mean,"  cried 
O'Shea,  rising;  "and  as  it  is  only  too  plain  you 
have  been  drinking,  I  do  not  care  to  ask  you." 

"Whether  I  was  drinking  or  no  is  my  own 
business ;  there's  none  to  call  me  to  account 
now.  I'm  here  in  my  own  house,  and  I  order 
you  to  leave  it,  and  if  you  don't  go  by  the  way 
you  came  in,  by  my  soul  you'll  go  by  that  win- 
dow !"  A  loud  bang  of  his  stick  on  the  floor 
gave  the  emphasis  to  the  last  words ;  and  wheth- 
er it  was  the  action  or  the  absurd  figure  of  the 
man  himself  overcame  O'iShea,  he  burst  out  in  a 
hearty  laugh  as  he  surveyed  him.  "  I'll  make 
it  no  laughing  matter  to  you,"  cried  Gill,  wild 
with  passion  ;  and,  stepping  to  the  door,  he  cried 
out,  "Come  up,  boys,  every  man  of  ye:  come 
up  and  see  the  chap* that's  trying  to  turn  me  out 
of  my  holding." 

The  sound  of  voices  and  the  tramp  of  feet  out- 
side now  drew  O'Shea  to 'the  window,  and,  pass- 
ing out  on  the  balcony,  hs  saw  a  considerable 
crowd  of  country  people  assembled  beneath. 
They  were  all  armed  with  sticks,  and  had  that 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


189 


lm.k  of  mischief  and  daring  so  unmistakable  in 
n  mob.  As  the  young  man  stood  looking  at 
them,  some  one  pointed  him  oat  to  the  rest,  and 
a  wild  yell,  mingled  \\irh  hisses,  now  broke  from 
the  crowd,     lie  was  turning  away  from  the  spot 


"Stand  back,  yOU  Old  fool,  and  let  me  pBSB," 

cried  (  1'Hiea. 

"Touch  me  if  you  dare;  onlj  laj  one  finger 
on  me  in  my  own  bouse," said  the  fellow;  and 

lie  grinned  almost  in  liis  tare  as  lie  spoke. 


- 


in  disgust  when  he  found  that  Gill  had  station-  I  "Stand  back, "said  Gorman;  and,  suiting  the 
ed  himself  at  the  window,  and  harred  the  pas-  action  to  the  word,  he  raised  Ins  arm  to  make 
BBge.  I  space  for  him  to  pass  out.      (Jill,  no  sooner  did 

"The  boy8  want  another  look  nt  ye,"  said  he  feel  the  arm  graze  his  chest,  than  he  struck 
GUI,  insolently ;  "go  back  and  show  yourself:  O'Shea  across  the  face;  and  though  the  blow 
it  is  not  every  day  they  see  an  informer."  |  was  that  of  an  old  man.  the  insult  was  so  mad- 


140 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


dening  that  O'Shea,  seizing  him  by  the  arms, 
dragged  him  out  upon  the  balcony. 

"  He's  going  to  throw  the  old  man  over,"  cried 
several  of  those  beneath,  and,  amidst  the  tumult 
of  voices,  a  number  soon  rushed  up  the  stairs 
and  out  on  the  balcony,  where  the  old  fellow  was 
clinging  to  O'Shea's  legs  in  his  despairing  attempt 
to  save  himself.  The  struggle  scarcely  lasted 
many  seconds,  for  the  rotten  wood-work  of  the 
balcony  creaked  and  trembled,  and  at  last  gave 
way  with  a  crash,  bringing  the  whole  party  to 
the  ground  together. 

A  score  of  sticks  rained  the  blows  on  the  luck- 
less young  man,  and  each  time  that  he  tried  to 
rise  he  was  struck  back  and  rolled  over  by  a 
blow  or  a  kick,  till  at  length  he  lay  still  and 
senseless  on  the  sward,  his  face  covered  with 
blood  and  his  clothes  in  ribbons. 

"  Put  him  in  a  cart,  boys,  and  take  him  off  to 
the  jail,"  said  the  attorney,  M'Evoy.  "We'll 
be  in  a  scrape  about  all  this  if  we  don't  make 
him  in  the  wrong." 

His  audience  fully  appreciated  the  counsel,  and 
while  a  few  were  busied  in  carrying  old  Gill  to  the 
house — for  a  broken  leg  made  him  unable  to  reach 
it  alone — the  others  placed  O'Shea  on  some  straw 
in  a  cart,  and  set  out  with  him  to  Kilbeggan. 

"It  is  not  a  trespass  at  all, "said  M'Evoy. 
"  I'll  make  it  a  burglary  and  forcible  entry,  and 
if  he  recovers  at  all,  I'll  stake  my  reputation  I 
transport  him  for  seven  years." 

A  hearty  murmur  of  approval  met  the  speech, 
and  the  procession,  with  the  cart  at  their  head, 
moved  on  toward  the  town. 


CHAPTER  LV. 


TWO   J.    P.  S. 


It  was  the  Tory  magistrate,  Mr.  Flood — the 
same  who  had  ransacked  Walpole's  correspond- 
ence— before  whom  the  informations  were  sworn 
against  Gorman  O'Shea,  and  the  old  justice  of 
the  peace  was,  in  secret,  not  sorry  to  see  the 
question  of  land  tenure  a  source  of  dispute  and 
quarrel  among  the  very  party  who  were  always 
•inveighing  against  the  landlords. 

When  Lord  Kilgobbin  arrived  at  Kilbeggan  it 
was  nigh  midnight ;  and  as  young  O'Shea  was  at 
that  moment  a  patient  in  the  jail  infirmary,  and 
sound  asleep,  it  was  decided  between  Kearney 
and  his  son  that  they  would  leave  him  undis- 
turbed till  the  following  morning. 

Late  as  it  was,  Kearney  was  so  desirous  to 
know  the  exact  narrative  of  events  that  he  re- 
solved on  seeing  Mr.  Elood  at  once.  Though 
Dick  Kearney  remonstrated  with  his  father,  and 
reminded  him  that  old  Tom  Flood,  as  he  was 
called,  was  a  bitter  Tory,  had  neither  a  civil  word 
nor  a  kind  thought  for  his  adversaries  in  politics, 
Kearney  was  determined  not  to  be  turned  from 
his  purpose  by  any  personal  consideration,  and 
being  assured  by  the  innkeeper  that  he  was  sure 
to  find  Mr.  Flood  in  his  dining-room  and  over 
his  wine,  he  set  out  for  the  snug  cottage  at  the 
entrance  of  the  town  where  the  old  justice  of  the 
peace  resided. 

Just  as  he  had  been  told,  Mr.  Flood  was  still 
in  the  dinner-room,  and  with  his  guest,  Tony 
Adams,  the  rector,  seated  with  an  array  of  de- 
canters between  them. 


"Kearney — Kearney!"  cried  Flood,  as  he 
read  the  card  the  servant  handed  him.  "  Is  it 
the  fellow  who  calls  himself  Lord  Kilgobbin,  I 
wonder  ?" 

' '  Maybe  so, "  growled  Adams,  in  a  deep  gut- 
tural, for  he  disliked  the  effort  of  speech. 

"I  don't  know  him,  nor  do  I  want  to  know 
him.  He  is  one  of  your  half-and-half  Liberals 
that,  to  my  thinking,  are  worse  than  the  rebels 
themselves!  What  is  this  here  in  pencil  on  the 
back  of  the  card  ?  '  Mr.  K.  begs  to  apologize 
for  the  hour  of  his  intrusion,  and  earnestly  en- 
treats a  few  minutes  from  Mr.  Flood.'  Show 
him  in,  Philip,  show  him  in;  and  bring  some 
fresh  glasses." 

Kearney  made  his  excuses  with  a  tact  and  po- 
liteness which  spoke  of  a  time  when  he  mixed 
freely  with  the  world,  and  old  Flood  was  so  aston- 
ished by  the  ease  and  good-breeding  of  his  visitor 
that  his  own  manner  became  at  once  courteous 
and  urbane. 

"  Make  no  apologies  about  the  hour,  Mr. 
Kearney,"  said  he.  "An  old  bachelor's  house 
is  never  very  tight  in  discipline.  Allow  me  to 
introduce  Mr.  Adams,  Mr.  Kearney — the  best 
preacher  in  Ireland,  and  as  good  a  judge  of  port- 
wine  as  of  theology." 

The  responsive  grunt  of  the  parson  was 
drowned  in  the  pleasant  laugh  of  the  others,  as 
Kearney  sat  down  and  filled  his  glass.  In  a 
very  few  words  he  related  the  reason  of  his  visit 
to  the  town,  and  asked  Mr.  Flood  to  tell  him 
what  he  knew  of  the  late  misadventure. 

"  Sworn  information,  drawn  up  by  that  worthy 
man,  Pat  M'Evoy,  the  greatest  rascal  in  Europe, 
and  I  hope  I  don't  hurt  you  by  saying  it,  Mr. 
Kearney.  Sworn  information  of  a  burglarious 
entry  and  an  aggravated  assault  on  the  premises 
and  person  of  one  Peter  Gill,  another  local  bless- 
ing— bad  luck  to  him.  The  aforesaid — if  I  spoke 
of  him  before — Gorman  O'Shea  having,  suadente 
diabo/o,  smashed  down  doors  and  windows,  pal- 
isadings  and  palings,  and  broken  open  cabinets, 
chests,  cupboards,  and  other  contrivances.  In 
a  word,  he  went  into  another  man's  house,  and 
when  asked  what  he  did  there,  he  threw  the 
proprietor  out  of  the  window.  There's  the  whole 
of  it." 

"  Where  was  the  house?" 

"O'Shea's  Barn." 

"But,  surely,  O'Shea's  Barn  being  the  resi- 
dence and  property  of  his  aunt,  there  was  no 
impropriety  in  his  going  there?" 

"The  informant  states  that  the  place  was  in 
the  tenancy  of  this  said  Gill,  one  of  your  own 
people,  Mr.  Kearney.     I  wish  you  luck  of  him." 

"I  disown  him.  Root  and  branch:  he  is  a 
disgrace  to  any  side.  And  where  is  Miss  Bettv 
O'Shea  ?" 

"In  a  convent  or  a  monastery,  they  say.  She 
has  turned  abbess  or  monk ;  but,  upon  my  con- 
science, from  the  little  I've  seen  of  her,  if  a 
strong  will  and  a  plucky  heart  be  the  qualifica- 
tions, she  might  be  the  Pope!" 

"And  are  the  young  man's  injuries  serious? 
Is  he  badly  hurt?  for  they  would  not  let  me  see 
him  at  the  jail." 

"  Serious,  I  believe  they  are.  He  is  cut  cru- 
elly about  the  face  and  head,  and  his  body  bruised 
all  over.  The  finest  peasantry  have  a  taste  for 
kicking  with  strong  brogues  on  them,  Mr.  Kear- 
ney, that  can  not  be  equaled." 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


II! 


"I  wish,  with  all  my  heart,  they'd  kick  the 
English  out  of  Ireland!''  cried  Kearney,  with  a 
savage  energy. 

'•Faith,  ii'  they  go  on  governing  us  in  the 
present  fashion,  I  do  not  say  I'll  make  any  great 
objection.     Eh,  Adams?" 

"Ma\  1h-  so!  was  the  slow  and  very  guttural 
reply,  as  the  tat  man  crossed  his  hands  on  his 
waistcoat. 

"I'm  sick  of  them  all,  "Whigs  and  Tories.'' 
said  Kearney. 

"Is  not  every  Irish  gentleman  sick  of  them, 
Mr.  Kearney?  Ain't  you  sick  of  being  cheated 
and  cajoled,  and  ain't  ■<-,  Bick  of  being  cheated 
ami  insulted?  They  seek  to  conciliate  you  by 
outraging  us.  Don't  you  think  we  could  settle 
our  own  differences  better  among  ourselves?  It 
was  Philpot  Oman  said  of  the  fleas  in  Man- 
chester that  if  they'd  all  pulled  together,  they'd 
have  pulled  him  out  of  bed.  Now,  Mr.  Kear- 
ney, what  if  we  all  took  to  'pulling  together?'" 
••  We  can  not  get  rid  of  the  notion  that  we'd 
be  outjockeyed."  said  Kearney,  slowly. 

••  We  know,"  cried  the  other,  "  that  we  should 
be  outnumbered,  and  that  is  worse.   Eh,  Adams?'' 
"Ay!"  sighed  Adams,  who  did  not  desire  to 
be  appealed  to  by  either  side. 

"  Now  we're  alone  here,  and  no  eavesdropper 
near  us,  tell  me  fairly,  Kearney,  are  you  better 
because  we  are  brought  down  in  the  world  ?  Are 
you  richer — are  you  greater — are  you  happier?" 
'•I  believe  we  are,  Mr.  Flood,  and  I'll  tell 
you  why  I  say  so." 

"I'll  be  shot  if  I  hear  you,  that's  all.  Fill 
your  glass.  That's  old  port  that  John  Beresford 
tasted  in  the  Custom-house  Docks  seventy  odd 
years  ago,  and  you  are  the  only  Whig  living  that 
ever  drank  a  drop  of  it!" 

"I  am  proud  to  be  the  first  exception,  and 
I  go  so  far  as  to  believe — I  shall  not  be  the 
last!" 

' '  I'll  send  a  few  bottles  over  to  that  boy  in 
the  infirmary.  It  can  not  but  be  good  for  him," 
said  Flood. 

"Take  care,  for  Heaven's  sake:  if  he  be 
threatened  with  inflammation.  Do  nothing 
without  the  doctor's  leave." 

"  I  wonder  that  the  people  who  are  so  afraid 
of  inflammation  are  so  fond  of  rebellion,"  said 
he,  sarcastically. 

"  Perhaps  I  could  tell  you  that  too — " 
"No.  do  not — do  not,  I  beseech  you;  reading 
the  Whig  ministers'  speeches  has  given  me  such 
a  disgust  to  all  explanations,  I'd  rather  concede 
any  thing  than  hear  how  it  could  be  defended! 
Apparently  Mr.  Disraeli  is  of  my  mind  also,  for 
he  won't  support  Paul  Hartigan's  motion." 
"What  was  Ilartigan's  motion?" 
"For  the  papers,  or  the  correspondence,  or 
whatever   they   called    it,   that    passed    between 
Danesbury  and  Dan  Donogan." 
"  But  there  was  none." 

"Is  that  all  you  know  of  it?  They  were  as 
thick  as  two  thieves.  It  was  'Dear  Dane' and 
'Dear  Dan'  between  them.  '  Stop  the  shooting. 
We  want  a  light  calender  at  the  summer  Assizes,1 
says  one.  '  You  shall  have  forty  thousand  pounds 
yearly  for  a  Catholic  college,  if  the  House  will 
let  us.'  'Thank  you  for  nothing  for  the  Catho- 
lic college,'  says  Dan.  '  We  want  our  own  Par- 
liament and  our  own  militia:  free  pardon  for 
political  offenses.'     What  would  you  say  to  a 


bill    to    make    landlord-shooting    manslaughter, 

Mr.  Kearney  ?" 

"Justifiable  homicide,  Mr.  Bright  called  it 
years  ago;    but  the  judges  didn't  see  it." 

"This  Danesbury  •muddle,'  for  that  is  the 
name  they  give  it,  will  lie  hushed  up,  for  lie  has 
got  some  Tory  connections,  and  the  lords  are 
never  hard  on  one  of  their  'order,'  so  I  hear. 
Ilartigan  is  to  be  let  have  his  talk  out  in  the 
House,  anil  as  he  is  said  to  lie  violent  and  indis- 
creet, the  Prime  Minister  will  only  reply  to  the 
violence  and  the  indiscretion,  and  lie  will  con- 
clude by-saying  that  the  noble  Viceroy  has  begged 
her  Majesty  to  release  him  of  the  charge  of  the 
Irish  government,  and  though  the  cabinet  have 
urgently  entreated  him  to  remain  and  cany  out 
the  wise  policy  of  conciliation  so  happily  begun 
in  Ireland,  he  is  rooted  in  his  resolve,  and  lie  will 
not  Stay;  and  there  will  be  cheers  !  and  when  he 
adds  that  Mr.  Cecil  Walpole,  having  shown  his 
great  talents  for  intrigue,  will  lie  sent  back  to  the 
fitting  sphere — his  old  profession  of  diplomacy 
— there  will  be  laughter,  for,  as  the  minister  sel- 
dom jokes,  the  House  will  imagine  this  to  be  a 
slip,  and  then,  with  every  one  in  good  humor — 
but  Paul  Ilartigan,  who  will  have  to  withdraw 
his  motion — the  right  honorable  gentleman  will 
sit  down,  well  pleased  at  his  afternoon's  work." 
Kearney  could  not  but  laugh  at  the  sketch  of 
a  debate  given  with  all  the  mimicry  of  tone  and 
mock  solemnity  of  an  old  debater,  and  the  two 
men  now  became,  by  the  bond  of  their  geniality, 
like  old  acquaintances. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Kearney,  I  won't  say  we'd  do  it 
better  on  College  Green,  but  we'd  do  it  more 
kindly,  more  courteously,  and,  above  all,  we'd  be 
less  hypocritical  in  our  inquiries.  I  believe  we 
try  to  cheat  the  devil  in  Ireland  just  as  much  as 
our  neighbors;  but  we  don't  pretend  that  we 
are  archbishops  all  the  time  we're  doing  it. 
There's  where  we  differ  from  the  English." 

"And  who  is  to  govern  us,"  cried  Kearney, 
"  if  we  have  no  Lord-Lieutenant  ?" 

"The  Privy  Council,  the  Lords  Justices,  or 
maybe  the  Board  of  Works,  who  knows  ?  When 
you  are  going  over  to  Holyhead  in  the  packet, 
do  you  ever  ask  if  the  man  at  the  wheel  is  decent, 
or  a  born  idiot,  and  liable  to  fits?  Not  a  bit  of 
it.  You  know  that  there  are  other  people  to  look 
to  this,  and  you  trust,  besides,  that  they'll  land 
you  all  safe." 

"That's  true,"  said  Kearney,  and  he  drained 
his  glass;  "and  now  tell  me  one  thing  more. 
How  will  it  go  with  young  O'Shea  about  this 
scrimmage:    will  it  lie  serious?" 

"Curtis,  the  chief  constable,  says  it  will  be  an 
ugly  affair  enough.  They'll  swear  hard,  and 
they'll  try  to  make  out  a  title  to  the  land  through 
the,  action  of  trespass:  and  if,  as  I  hear,  the 
young  fellow  is  a  scamp  and  a  bad  lot — " 

"Neither  one  nor  the  other,"  broke  in  Kear- 
ney; "a-  line  a  hov  and  as  thorough  a  gentle- 
man as  there  is  in  Ireland." 

"And  a  hit  of  a  Fenian,  too,"  slowly  inter- 
posed Mood. 

"Not  that  I  know;  I'm  not  sure  that  he  fol- 
lows the  distinctions  of  party  here;    he  is  little 

acquainted  with  Ireland. 

"  llo,  ho!  a  Yankee  sympathizer?" 

"  Not  even  that  ;  an  Austrian  soldier,  a  young 
lieutenant  of  I.aneers,  over  here  for  hi.-,  leave." 
"And  why  couldn't  he   shoot,  or  course,  or 


142 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


kiss  tlie  girls,  or  play  at  foot-ball,  and  not  be 
burning  his  fingers  with  th3  new  land  laws? 
There's  plenty  of  ways  to  amuse  yourself  in  Ire- 
land without  throwing  a  man  out  of  window. 
Eh,  Adams?"  And  Adams  bowed  his  assent, 
but  did  not  utter  a  word. 

"You  are  not  going  to  open  more  wine?"  re- 
monstrated Kearney,  eagerly. 

'"It's  done.  Smell  that,  Mr.  Kearney, "cried 
Flood,  as  he  held  out  a  fresh-drawn  cork  at  the 
end  of  the  screw.  "  Talk  to  me  of  clove  pinks 
and  violets  and  carnations  after  that  ?  I  don't 
know  whether  you  have  any  prayers  in  your 
Church  against  being  led  into  temptation." 

"  Haven't  we?"  sighed  the  other. 

"  Then  all  I  say  is,  Heaven  help  the  people  up 
at  Oporto :  they'll  have  more  to  answer  for  even 
than  most  men." 

It  was  nigh  dawn  when  they  parted,  Kearney 
muttering  to  himself  as  he  sauntered  back  to  the 
inn,  "  If  port  like  that  is  the  drink  of  the  Tories, 
they  must  be  good  fellows  with  all  their  preju- 
dices." 

"I'll  be  shot  if  I  don't  like  that  rebel,"  said 
Flood  as  he  went  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

BEFORE     THE     DOOR. 

Though  Lord  Kilgobbin,  when  he  awoke 
somewhat  late  in  the  afternoon,  did  not  exactly 
complain  of  headache,  he  was  free  to  admit  that 
his  faculties  were  slightly  clouded,  and  that  his 
memory  was  not  to  the  desired  extent  retentive 
of  all  that  passed  on  the  preceding  night.  In- 
deed, beyond  the  fact — which  he  reiterated  with 
great  energy— that  "old  Flood,  Tory  though  he 
was,  was  a  good  fellow,  an  excellent  fellow,  and 
had  a  marvelous  bin  of  port-wine,"  his  son  Dick 
was  totally  unable  to  get  any  information  from 
him.    '"  Bigot,  if  you  like,  or  Blue  Protestant,  and 


all  the  rest  of  it ;  but  a  fine  hearty  old  soul,  and 
an  Irishman  to  the  heart's  core!"  This  was  the 
sum  of  information  which  a  two  hours'  close  cross- 
examination  elicited  ;  and  Dick  was  sulkily  about 
to  leave  the  room  in  blank  disappointment,  when 
the  old  man  suddenly  amazed  him  by  asking: 
"  And  do  you  tell  me  that  you  have  been  loun- 
ging about  the  town  all  the  morning,  and  have 
learned  nothing?  Were  you  down  to  the  jail? 
Have  you  seen  O'Shea?  What's  his  account  of 
it  ?  Who  began  the  row  ?  Has  be  any  bones 
broken  ?  Do  you  know  any  thing  at  all  ?"  cried 
he,  as  the  blank  look  of  the  astonished  youth 
|  seemed  to  imply  utter  ignorance,  as  well  as  dis- 
may. 

"  First  of  all,"  said  Dick,  drawing  a  long 
breath,  "  I  have  not  seen  O'Shea :  nobody  is  ad- 
mitted to  see  him.  His  injuries  about  the  head  are 
so  severe  the  doctors  are  in  dread  of  erysipelas." 

"  What  if  he  had  ?  Have  not  every  one  of  us 
had  the  erysipelas  some  time  or  other ;  and, 
barring  the  itching,  what's  the  great  harm  ?" 

"The  doctors  declare  that  if  it  come  they  will 
not  answer  for  his  life." 

"They  know  best,  and  I'm  afraid  they  know 
why  also.  Oh  dear,  oh  dear!  if  there's  any 
thing  the  world  makes  no  progress  in,  it's  the 
science  of  medicine.  Every  body  now  dies  of 
what  we  all  used  to  have  when  I  was  a  boy ! 
Sore  throats,  small-pox,  colic,  are  all  fatal  since 
they've  found  outGreek  names  for  them,  and  with 
their  old  vulgar  titles  they  killed  nobody." 

"Gorman  is  certainly  in  a  bad  way,  and  Dr. 
Rogan  says  it  will  be  some  days  before  he  could 
pronounce  him  out  of  danger." 

"Can  he  be  removed  ?  Can  we  take  him  back 
with  us  to  Kilgobbin?" 

"That  is  utterly  out  of  the  question;  he  can 
not  be  stirred,  and  requires  the  most  absolute 
rest  and  quiet.  Besides  that,  there  is  another 
difficulty  :  I  don't  know  if  they  would  permit  us 
to  take  him  away." 

"  What !  do  you  mean  refuse  our  bail  ?" 

"They  have  got  affidavits  to  show  old  Gill's 
life's  in  danger ;  he  is  in  high  fever  to-day,  and 
raving  furiously ;  and  if  be  should  die,  M  'Evoy 
declares  that  they'll  be  able  to  send  bills  for  man- 
slaughter, at  least,  before  the  grand  jury." 

"There's  more  of  it!"  cried  Kilgobbin,  with  a 
long  whistle.  "Is  it  Rogan  swears  that  the 
fellow  is  in  danger?" 

"  No ;  it's  Tom  Price,  the  dispensary  doctor  : 
and,  as  Miss  Betty  withdrew  her  subscription  last 
year,  they  say  he  swore  he'd  pay  her  off  for  it." 

"I  know  Tom,  and  I'll  see  to  that,"  said 
Kearney.     "Are  the  affidavits  sworn ?" 

"No.  They're  drawn  out.  M'Evoy  is  copy- 
ing them  now;  but  they'll  be  ready  by  three 
o'clock." 

"I'll  have  Rogan  to  swear  that  the  boy  must 
be  removed  at  once.  We'll  take  him  over  with 
us ;  and,  once  at  Kilgobbin,  they'll  want  a  regi- 
ment of  soldiers  if  they  mean  to  take  him.  It 
is  nigh  twelve  o'clock  now,  is  it  not  ?" 

"  It  is  on  the  stroke  of  two.  Sir." 

"  Is  it  possible?  I  believe  I  overslept  myself 
in  the  strange  bed.  Be  alive  now,  Dick,  and 
take  the  2.40  train  to  town.  Call  on  M'Keown, 
and  find  out  where  Miss  Betty  is  stopping  ;  break 
this  business  to  her  gently — for,  with  all  that 
damnable  temper,  she  has  a  fine  womanly  heart ; 
tell  her  the  poor  boy  was  not  to  blame  at  all; 


LORD  KIUior.l'.IN. 


143 


that  he  went  over  to  see  her.  and  knew  nothing 
of  the  place  being  lei  onl  or  hired;  and  tell  her, 
besides,  that  the  blackguards  that  heat  him  were 
not  her  own  people  at  all,  bnt  villains  from  an- 
other barony  that  old  (iill  brought  oxer  to  work 


ner  in  which  the  old  man  detailed  all  his  direc- 
tions one  would  have  pronounced  him  a  model 
of  orderly  arrangement  and  ride.  Having  dis- 
patched Dick  to  town,  however,  he  began  i<>  be 

think   him  of  all   the  mailers  on   which  he  was 


on  short  wages.    .Mind  that  von  say  that,  or  we'll  |  desirous  t<,  [earn  Mi-s  <  I'Slua's  mind.      Had  she 


have  more  law  and   more  trouble  —  noticed  to  | 

quit,  and  the  devil  knows  what.  I  know  .Miss 
Hetty  well,  and  she'd  not  leave  a  man  on  a  town-  j 
land"  if  they  raised  a  finger  against  one  of  her 
name !  There  now,  you  know  what  to  do  :  go 
and  do  it !" 

To  hear  the  systematic  and  peremptory  man-  I 


really  leased  the  Barn  to  this  man  (iill  ;  and  if 
BO,  fa-  what  term?  And  was  her  quarrel  with 
her  nephew  of  so  serious  a  nature  that  she  mighl 

hesitate  as  to  taking  his  side  here— at  least,  till 
she  knew  he  was  in  the  right;  and  then,  wa-  he 
in    the   right?     That    was,  though   the   last,  the 

most  vital  consideration  of  all. 


144 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"  I'd  have  thought  of  all  these  if  the  boy  had 
not  flurried  me  so.  These  hot-headed  fellows 
have  never  room  in  their  foolish  brains  for  any 
thing  like  consecutive  thought ;  they  can  just  en- 
tertain the  one  idea,  and  till  they  dismiss  that  they 
can  not  admit  another.  Now  he'll  come  back 
by  the  next  train,  and  bring  me  the  answer  to 
one  of  my  queries,  if  even  that!"  sighed  he,  as 
he  went  on  with  his  dressing. 

"All  this  blessed  business,"  muttered  he  to 
himself,  "comes  of  this  blundering  interference 
with  the  land  laws.  Paddy  hears  that  they  have 
given  him  some  new  rights  and  privileges,  and 
no  mock-modesty  of  his  own  will  let  him  lose  any 
of  them,  and  so  he  claims  every  thing.  Old  ex- 
perience had  taught  him  that,  with  a  bold  heart 
and  a  blunderbuss,  he  need  not  pay  much  rent ; 
but  Mr.  Gladstone — long  life  to  him — had  said, 
'We  must  do  something  for  you.'  Now  what 
could  that  be  ?  He'd  scarcely  go  so  far  as  to  give 
them  out  Minie'  rifles  or  Chassepots ;  though 
arms  of  precision,  as  they  call  them,  would  have 
put  many  a  poor  fellow  out  of  pain — as  Bob  Ma- 
grath  said  when  he  limped  into  the  public-house 
with  a  ball  in  his  back,  '  It's  only  a  "healing 
measure  ;"  don't  make  a  fuss  about  it.'" 

"Mr.  Flood  wants  to  see  your  honor  when 
you're  dressed, "  said  the  waiter,  interrupting  his 
soliloquy. 

"Where  is  he?" 

"Walking  up  and  down,  Sir,  forenent  the 
door." 

"Will  ye  say  I'm  coming  down?  I'm  just 
finishing  a  letter  to  the  Lord  Lieutenant,"  said 
Kilgobbin,  with  a  sly  look  to  the  man,  who  re- 
turned the  glance  with  its  rival,  and  then  left 
the  room. 

"Will  you  not  come  in  and  sit  down?"  said 
Kearney,  as  he  cordially  shook  Flood's  hand. 

"I  have  only  five  minutes  to  stay,  and  with 
your  leave,  Mr.  Kearney,  we'll  pass  it  here;" 
and,  taking  the  other's  arm,  he  proceeded  to 
walk  up  and  down  before  the  door  of  the  inn. 

"  You  know  Ireland  well — few  men  better,  I  am 
told — and  you  have  no  need,  therefore,  to  be  told 
how  the  rumored  dislikes  of  party,  the  reported 
jealousies  and  rancors  of  this  set  to  that,  influence 
the  world  here.  It  will  be  a  fine  thing,  therefore,  to 
show  these  people  here  that  the  Liberal  Mr.  Kear- 
ney and  that  bigoted  old  Tory,  Tom  Flood,  were 
to  be  seen  walking  together,  and  in  close  confab. 
It  will  show  them,  at  all  events,  that  neither  of 
us  wants  to  make  party  capital  out  of  this  scrim- 
mage ;  and  that  he  who  wants  to  affront  one  of 
us  can  not,  on  that  ground  at  least,  count  upon 
the  other.  Just  look  at  the  crowd  that  is  watch- 
ing us  already !  There's  a  fellow  neglecting  the 
sale  of  his  pig  to  stare  at  us,  and  that  young 
woman  has  stopped  gartering  her  stocking  for 
the  last  two  minutes  in  sheer  curiosity  about  us." 

Kearney  laughed  heartily  as  he  nodded  assent. 

"You  follow  me,  don't  you?"  asked  Flood. 
"Well,  then,  grant  me  the  favor  I  am  about  to 
ask,  and  it  will  show  me  that  you  see  all  these 
things  as  I  do.  This  row  may  turn  out  more 
seriously  than  we  thought  for.  That  scoundrel 
Gill  is  in  a  high  fever  to-day — I  would  not  say 
that  just  out  of  spite  the  fellow  would  not  die. 
Who  knows  if  it  may  not  become  a  great  case  at 
the  assizes  ?  and  if  so,  Kearney,  let  us  have  pub- 
lic opinion  with  us.  There  are  scores  of  men 
who  will  wait  to  hear  what  you  and  I  say  of  this 


business.  There  are  hundreds  more  who  will 
expect  us  to  disagree.  Let  us  prove  to  them 
that  this  is  no  feud  between  Orange  and  Green  ; 
this  is  nothing  of  dispute  between  Whig  and 
Tory,  or  Protestant  and  Papist ;  but  a  free  fight, 
where,  more  shame  to  them,  fifty  fell  upon  one. 
Now  what  you  must  grant  me  is  leave  to  send  this 
boy  back  to  Kilgobbin  in  my  own  carriage,  and 
with  my  own  liveries.  There  is  not  a  peasant 
cutting  turf  on  the  bog  will  not  reason  out  his 
own  conclusions  when  he  sees  it.  Don't  refuse 
me,  for  I  have  set  my  heart  on  it." 

"  I'm  not  thinking  of  refusing.  I  was  only 
wondering  to  myself  what  my  daughter  Kitty 
j  will  say  when  she  sees  me  sitting  behind  the  blue 
and  orange  liveries." 

"You  may  send  me  back  with  the  green  flag 
i  over  me  the  next  day  I  dine  with  you!"  cried 
Flood  ;  and  the  compact  was  ratified. 

"It  is  more  than  half  past  already,"  said 
!  Flood.  "  We  are  to  have  a  full  bench  at  three  : 
so  be  ready  to  give  your  bail,  and  I'll  have  the 
carriage  at  the  corner  of  the  street,  and  you  shall 
set  off  with  the  boy  at  once." 

"I  must  say,"  said  Kearney,  "whatever  be 
your  Tory  faults,  lukewarmness  is  not  one  of 
them  !  You  stand  to  me  like  an  old  friend  in  all 
this  trouble." 

"Maybe  it's  time  to  begin  to  forget  old  grudges. 
Kearney,  I  believe  in  my  heart  neither  of  us  is  as 
bad  as  the  other  thinks  him.  Are  you  aware  that 
they  are  getting  affidavits  to  refuse  the  bail  ?" 

"  I  know  it  all ;  but  I  have  sent  a  man  to 
M'Evoy  about  a  case  that  will  take  all  his  morn- 
ing, and  he'll  be  too  late  with  his  affidavits." 

"  By  the  time  he  is  ready  you  and  your  charge 
will  be  snug  in  Kilgobbin.  And  another  thing, 
Kearney — for  I  have  thought  of  the  whole  mat- 
ter— you'll  take  out  with  you  that  little  vermin, 
Price,  the  doctor,  and  treat  him  well.  He'll  be 
as  indiscreet  as  you  wish,  and  be  sure  to  give  him 
the  opportunity.  There,  now,  give  me  your  most 
affectionate  grasp  of  the  hand,  for  there's  an  at- 
tentive public  watching  us." 


CHAPTER  LVII. 


Yottng  O'Shea  made  the  journey  from  Kil- 
i  beggan  to  Kilgobbin  Castle  in  total  uneonscious- 
■  ness.  The  symptoms  had  now  taken  the  form 
|  which  doctors  call  concussion ;  and  though  to  a 
!  first  brief  question  he  was  able  to  reply  reason- 
j  ably  and  well,  the  effort  seemed  so  exhausting 
that  to  all  subsequent  queries  he  appeared  utter- 
I  ly  indifferent ;  nor  did  he  even  by  look  acknowl- 
edge that  he  heard  them. 

Perfect  and  unbroken  quiet  was  enjoined  as 
I  his  best,  if  not  his  only,  remedy ;  and  Kate  gave 
|  up  her  own  room  for  the  sick  man,  as  that  most 
remote  from  all  possible  disturbance,  and  away 
from  all  the  bustle  of  the  house.  The  doctors 
consulted  on  his  case  in  the  fashion  that  a  coun- 
I  try  physician  of  eminence  condescends  to  con- 
|  suit  with  a  small  local  practitioner.  Dr.  Rogan 
pronounced  his  opinion,  prophetically  declared 
the  patient  in  danger,  and  prescribed  his  reme- 
dies ;  while  Price,  agreeing  with  every  thing,  and 
even  slavishly  abject  in  his  manner  of  concur- 
rence, went  about  among  the  underlings  of  the 


LOUD  KILGOBBIN. 


I  I  i 


household,  saying,  ''There's  two  fractures  <>f  the 
frontal  bone.  lis  trepanned  he  ought  t<>  be; 
and  when  there's  an  inquest  on  the  body  I'll  de- 
clare I  said  si  i." 

Though  nearly  all  the  eare  of  providing  for 

the  sick  man's  nursing  fell  to  Kate  Kearney,  she 

fulfilled   the  duty  without  attracting  any   notice 

whatever,  or  appearing  to  feel  as  if  any  extra  de- 
mand were  made  upon  her  time  or  her  attention  : 
BO  much  so  that  a  careless  observer  might   have 

thought  her  far  more  interested  in  providing  for 
the  reception  of  the  aunt  than  in  cares  for  the 
nephew. 

Dick  Kearney  had  written  to  say  that  Miss 
Betty  was  so  overwhelmed  with  affliction  at 
young  Gorman's  mishap  that  she  had  taken  to 
bed,  and  could  not  he  expected  to  be  able  to 
travel  for  several  days.  She  insisted,  however, 
on  two  telegrams  daily  to  report  on  the  hoy's 
case,  and  asked  which  of  the  great  Dublin  celeb- 
rities of  physic  should  he  sent  down  to  see  him. 

'"They're  all  alike  to  me,"  said  Kilgobbin; 
"  but  if  I  was  to  choose,  I  think  I'd  say  Dr. 
Chute.'' 

This  was  so  far  unlucky,  since  Dr.  Chute  had 
then  been  dead  about  forty  years,  scarcely  a  jun- 
ior of  the  profession  having  so  much  as  heard 
his  name. 

"  We  really  want  no  one,"  said  Rogan.  "  We 
are  doing  most  favorably  in  every  respect.  If 
one  of  the  young  ladies  would  sit  and  read  to 
him,  but  not  converse,  it  would  be  a  service, 
lie  made  the  request  himself  this  morning,  and 
I  promised  to  repeat  it." 

A  telegram,  however,  announced  that  Sir  St. 
Xavier  Brennan  would  arrive  the  same  evening, 
and  as  Sir  X.  was  physician  in  chief  to  the  nuns 
of  the  Bleeding  Heart,  there  could  be  little  doubt 
whose  orthodoxy  had  chosen  him. 

He  came  at  nightfall — a  fat,  comely  looking, 
somewhat  unctuous  gentleman,  with  excellent 
teeth,  and  snow-white  hands,  symmetrical  and 
dimpled  like  a  woman's.  He  saw  the  patient, 
questioned  him  slightly,  and  divined,  without 
waiting  for  it,  what  the  answer  should  be.  He 
was  delighted  with  llogan,  pleased  with  Price, 
but  he  grew  actually  enthusiastic  over  those 
charming  nurses,  Nina  and  Kate. 

'•With  such  sisters  of  charity  to  tend  me,  I'd 
consent  to  pass  my  life  as  an  invalid,"  cried  he. 

Indeed,  to  listen  to  him,  it  would  seem  that, 
whether  from  the  salubrity  of  the  air,  the  peace- 
ful quietude  of  the  spot,  the  watchful  kindness 
and  attention  of  the  surrounders,  or  a  certain 
general  air — an  actual  atmosphere  of  benevolence 
and  contentment  around — there  was  no  pleasure 
of  life  could  equal  the  delight  of  being  laid  up  at 
Kilgobbin. 

'•I  have  a  message  for  you  from  my  old  friend 
Miss  O'Shea,"  said  he  to  Kate  the  fust  moment 
he  had  the  opportunity  of  speaking  with  her 
alone.  "It  is  not  necessary  to  tell  you  that  I 
neither  know  nor  desire  to  know  its  import.  Her 
words  were  these:  'Tell  my  godchild  to  forgive 
me  if  she  still  has  any  memory  for  some  very 
rude  words  I  once  spoke.  Tell  her  that  I  have 
been  sorely  punished  for  them  since,  and  that 
till  I  know  I  have  her  pardon  I  have  no  courage 
to  cross  her  doors.'  This  was  my  message,  and 
I  was  to  bring  back  your  answer." 

"Tell  her,"  cried  Kate,  warmly,  "I  have  no 
place  in  my  memory  but  for  the  kindnesses  she 


has  bestowed  on  me.  and  that  I  ask  no  better 

boon  from  fortune  than  to  be  allowed  to  love  her, 
and  to  be  worthy  of  her  love." 

"  1  will  repeat  every  word  you  have  told  me. 

and  1  am  proud  to  he  bearer  of  Buch  a  Bpeech. 
May  I  presume,  upon  the  casual  confidence  I 

have  thus  acquired,  to  add  one  word  for  myself 

—and  it  is  as  the  doctor  I  would  spuak  ?" 

"  Speak  freely.      What  is  it  ?" 

"It  is  this,  then  :  you  young  ladies  keep  your 
watches  in  turn  in  the  sick-room.  The  patient 
is  unlit  for  much  excitement,  and  as  I  dare  not 
take  the  liberty  of  imposing  a  line  of  conduct 
on  Mademoiselle  Kostalergi.  1  have  resolved  to 
run  the  hazard  with  you  .'  Let  hers  be  the  task 
of  entertaining  him  :  let  her  be  the  reader — and 
he  loves  being  read  to — and  the  talker,  and  the 
narrator  of  whatever  goes  on.  To  you  be  the 
part  of  quiet  watchfulness  and  care,  to  bathe  the 
heated  brow  or  the  burning  hand,  to  hold  the 
cold  cup  to  the  parched  lips,  to  adjust  the  pillow, 
to  temper  the  light,  and  renew  the  air  of  the  sick- 
room, but  to  speak  seldom,  if  at  all.  Do  you  un- 
derstand me?" 

"Perfectly;  and  you  are  wise  and  acute  in 
your  distribution  of  labor ;  each  of  us  has  her  tit- 
ting  station." 

"  I  dared  not  have  said  this  much  to  her  ;  my 
doctor's  instinct  told  me  I  might  be  frank  with 

"  ^  ou  arc  safe  in  speaking  to  me,"  said  she. 
calmly. 

' '  Perhaps  I  ought  to  say  that  I  give  these  sug- 
gestions without  any  concert  with  my  patient.  I 
have  not  only  abstained  from  consulting,  but — " 

"  Forgive  my  interrupting  you,  Sir  X.  It  was 
quite  unnecessary  to  tell  me  this." 

"  You  are  not  displeased  with  me,  dear  lady  '.'" 
said  he,  in  his  softest  of  accents. 

"No;  but  do  not  say  any  thing  which  might 
make  me  so." 

The  doctor  bowed  reverentially,  crossed  his 
white  hands  on  his  waistcoat,  and  looked  like 
a  saint  ready  for  martyrdom. 

Kate  frankly  held  out  her  hand  in  token  of 
perfect  cordiality,  and  her  honest  smile  suited  the 
action  well. 

"Tell  Miss  Betty  that  our  sick  charge  shall 
not  be  neglected,  but  that  we  want  her  here  her- 
self to  help  us." 

"  I  shall  report  your  message  word  for  word," 
said  he,  as  he  withdrew. 

As  the  doctor  drove  back  to  Dublin  he  went 
over  a  variety  of  things  in  his  thoughts.  There 
were  serious  distui  bailees  in  the  provinces— those 
Ugly  outrages  which  forerun  long  winter  nights, 
and  make  the  last  days  of  October  dreary  and 
sail-colored.  Disorder  and  lawlessness  were 
abroad;  and  that  want  of  something  remedial 
to  be  done  which,  like  the  thirst  in  fever,  is  fos- 
tered and  fed  by  partial  indulgence.  Then  he 
had  some  puzzling  cases  in  hospital,  and  one  or 
two  in  private  practice,  which  harassed  him  :  for 

some  had  reached  that  critical  stage  where  a  false 

1  move  would  be  fatal,  and  it  was  far  from   dear 

which  path  should   be  taken.      Then   there  was 

that  matter  of  Bliss  O'Shea  herself,  who,  if  her 

nephew  were  to  die,  would  most  likely  endow 
that  hospital  in  connection  wiih  the  Bleeding 

Heart,  and  of  which  he  wa-  himself  the  found- 
er;  and  that  this  fate  was  hv  no  mean-,  improb- 
|  able,  Sir  X.  persuaded   himself,  as  he  counted 


146 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


over  all  the  different  stages  of  peril  that  stood 
between  him  and  convalescence.  "  We  have 
now  the  concussion,  with  reasonable  prospect 
of  meningitis ;  then  there  may  come  on  erysip- 
elas from  the  scalp  wounds,  and  high  fever,  with 
all  its  dangers ;  next  there  may  be  a  low  typhoid 
state,  with  high  nervous  excitement;  and  through 
all  these  the  passing  risks  of  the  wrong  food  or 
drink,  the  imprudent  revelations,  or  the  mistaken 
stimulants.  Heigho!"  said  he  at  last;  "we 
come  through  storm  and  shipwreck,  forlorn 
hopes  and  burning  villages,  and  we  succumb 
to  ten  drops  too  much  of  a  dark  brown  liquor, 
or  the  improvident  rashness  that  reads  out  a  note 
to  us  incautiously ! 

"Those  young  ladies  thought  to  mystify  me," 
said  he  aloud,  after  a  long  reverie.  "  I  was  not 
to  know  which  of  them  was  in  love  with  the  sick 
boy.  I  could  make  nothing  of  the  Greek,  I  own, 
for,  except  a  half-stealthy  regard  for  myself,  she 
confessed  to  nothing,  and  the  other  was  nearly 
as  inscrutable.  It  was  only  the  little  warmth  at 
last  that  betrayed  her.  I  hurt  her  pride,  and  as 
she  winced,  I  said,  'There's  the  sore  spot — 
there's  mischief  there !'  How  the  people  grope 
their  way  through  life  who  have  never  studied 
physic  nor  learned  physiology  is  a  puzzle  to  me  ! 
With  all  its  aid  and  guidance  /  find  humanity 
quite  hard  enough  to  understand  every  day  I 
live." 

Even  in  his  few  hours'  visit — in  which  he  re- 
marked every  thing,  from  the  dress  of  the  man 
who  waited  at  dinner  to  the  sherry  decanter  with 
the  smashed  stopper,  the  weak  "  Gladstone"  that 
did  duty  as  claret,  and  the  cotton  lace  which  Nina 
sported  as  "point  d'Alencon,"  and  numberless 
other  shifts,  such  as  people  make  who  like  to 
play  false  money  with  Fortune — -all  these  he 
saw,  and  he  saw  that  a  certain  jealous  rivalry 
existed  between  the  two  girls ;  but  whether  ei- 
ther of  them,  or  both,  cared  for  young  O'Shea, 
he  could  not  declare;  and,  strange  as  it  may 
seem,  his  inability  to  determine  this  weighed 
upon  him  with  all  the  sense  of  a  defeat. 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

IN    TURKEY. 

Leaving  the  sick  man  to  the  tender  care  of 
those  ladies  whose  division  of  labor  we  have  just 
hinted  at,  we  turn  to  other  interests,  and  to  one 
of  our  characters,  who,  though  to  all  seeming 
neglected,  has  not  lapsed  from  our  memory. 

Joe  Atlee  had  been  dispatched  on  a  very  con- 
fidential mission  by  Lord  Danesbury.  Not  only 
was  he  to  repossess  himself  of  certain  papers  he 
had  never  heard  of,  from  a  man  he  had  never 
seen,  but  he  was  also  to  impress  this  unknown 
individual  with  the  immense  sense  of  fidelity  to 
another  who  no  longer  had  any  power  to  reward 
him,  and  besides  this,  to  persuade  him,  being  a 
Greek,  that  the  favor  of  a  great  embassador  of 
England  was  better  than  rubles  of  gold  and 
vases  of  malachite. 

Modern  history  has  shown  us  what  a  great  aid 
to  success  in  life  is  the  contribution  of  a  "light 
heart,''  and  Joe  Atlee  certainly  brought  this  ele- 
ment of  victory  along  with  him  on  his  journey. 

His  instructions  were  assuredly  of  the  rough- 
est.    To  impress  Lord  Danesbury  favorably  on 


the  score  of  his  acuteness,  he  must  not  press  for 
details,  seek  for  explanations,  and,  above  all,  he 
must  ask  no  questions.  In  fact,  to  accomplish 
that  victory  which  he  ambitioned  for  his  clever- 
ness, and  on  which  his  Excellency  should  say, 
"Atlee  saw  it  at  once — Atlee  caught  the  whole 
thing  at  a  glance,"  Joe  must  be  satisfied  with  the 
least  definite  directions  that  ever  were  issued,  and 
the  most  confused  statement  of  duties  and  diffi- 
culties that  ever  puzzled  a  human  intelligence. 
Indeed,  as  he  himself  summed  up  his  instructions 
in  his  own  room,  they  went  no  further  than  this  : 
That  there  was  a  Greek,  who,  with  a  number  of 
other  names,  was  occasionally  called  Speridion- 
ides  (a  great  scoundrel,  and  with  every  good  rea- 
son for  not  being  come  at),  who  was  to  be  found 
somewhere  in  Stamboul — probably  at  the  ba- 
zar at  nightfall.  He  was  to  be  bullied,  or  bribed, 
or  wheedled,  or  menaced  to  give  tip  some  letters 
which  Lord  Danesbury  had  once  written  to  him, 
and  to  pledge  himself  to  complete  secrecy  as  to 
their  contents  ever  after.  From  this  Greek, 
whose  perfect  confidence  Atlee  was  to  obtain, 
he  was  to  learn  whether  Kulbash  Pasha,  Lord 
Danesbury's  sworn  friend  and  ally,  was  not  laps- 
ing from  his  English  alliance,  and  inclining  to- 
ward Russian  connections.  To  Kulbash  him- 
self Atlee  had  letters,  accrediting  him  as  the 
trusted  and  confidential  agent  of  Lord  Danes- 
bury, and  with  the  pasha  Joe  was  instructed  to 
treat  with  an  air  and  bearing  of  unlimited  trust- 
fulness. He  was  also  to  mention  that  his  Ex- 
cellency was  eager  to  be  back  at  his  old  post  as 
embassador,  that  he  loved  the  country,  the  cli- 
mate, his  old  colleagues  in  the  Sultan's  service, 
and  all  the  interests  and  questions  that  made  up 
their  political  life. 

Last  of  all,  Atlee  was  to  ascertain  every  point 
on  which  any  successor  to  Lord  Danesbury  was 
likely  to  be  mistaken,  and  how  a  misconception 
might  be  ingeniously  widened  into  a  grave  blun- 
der ;  and  by  what  means  such  incidents  should 
be  properly  commented  on  by  the  local  papers, 
and  unfavorable  comparisons  drawn  between  the 
author  of  these  measures  and  "the  great  and 
enlightened  statesman"  who  had  so  lately  left 
them. 

In  a  word,  Atlee  saw  that  he  was  to  personate 
the  character  of  a  most  unsuspecting,  confiding 
young  gentleman,  who  possessed  a  certain  natu- 
ral aptitude  for  affairs  of  importance,  and  that 
amount  of  discretion  such  as  suited  him  to  be' 
employed  confidentially;  and  to  perform  this 
part  he  addressed  himself. 

The  pasha  liked  him  so  much  that  he  invited 
him  to  be  his  guest  while  he  remained  at  Con- 
stantinople ;  and  soon  satisfied  that  he  was  a 
guileless  youth,  fresh  to  the  world  and  its  ways, 
he  talked  very  freely  before  him,  and,  affecting 
to  discuss  mere  possibilities,  actually  sketched 
events  and  consequences  which  Atlee  shrewdly 
guessed  to  be  all  within  the  range  of  casualties. 

Lord  Danesbury's  post  at  Constantinople  had 
not  been  filled  up,  except  by  the  appointment 
of  a  charge'  d'affaires ;  it  being  one  of  the  ap- 
proved modes  of  snubbing  a  government  to  ac- 
credit a  person  of  inferior  rank  to  its  court. 
Lord  Danesbury  detested  this  man  with  a  hale 
that  only  official  life  comprehends,  the  mingled 
rancor,  jealousy,  and  malice  suggested  by  a  suc- 
cessor being  a  combination  only  known  to  men 
who  serve  their  country. 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


n; 


"Find  out  what  Brumsey  is  doing  ;  he  is  said 
to  be  doing  wrong.  He  knows  nothing  of  Tur- 
key. Learn  his  blunders,  and  Let  me  know 
them." 

This  was  the  easiest  of  all  Atlee's  missions, 
for  Briunsey  was  the  weakest  and  most  transpar- 
ent of  all  imbecile  Whigs.  A  junior  diplomatist 
of  small  faculties  and  great  ambitions,  he  wanted 
to  do  something,  not  being  clear  as  to  what. 
which  should  startle  his  chiefs,  and  make  M  the 
Office"  exclaim  :  "See  what  Sam  Brumsey  has 
been  doing:  Hasn't  Bmmsey  hit  the  nail  on  the 
head !  Brnmsey's  last  dispatch  is  the  finest  state 
paper  since  the  days  of  Canning!''  Now  no  one 
knew  the  short  range  of  this  man's  intellectual 
tether  better  than  Lord  Danesbury,  since  Brum- 
sey  had  been  his  own  private  secretary  once: 
and  the  two  men  hated  each  other  as  only  a 
haughty  superior  and  a  craven  dependent  know 
tiow  to  hate. 

The  old  embassador  was  right.  Russian  craft 
had  dug  many  a  pitfall  for  the  English  diploma- 
tist, and  Brumsey  had  fallen  into  every  one  of 
them.  Acting  on  secret  information — all  ingen- 
iously prepared  to  entrap  him — Brumsey  had 
discovered  a  secret  demand  made  by  Russia  to 
enable  one  of  the  Imperial  family  to  make  the 
tour  of  the  Black  Sea  with  a  ship  of  war.  Though 
it  might  be  matter  of  controversy  whether  Tur- 
key herself  could,  without  the  assent  of  the  oth- 
er powers  to  the  Treaty  of  Paris,  give  her  per- 
mission, Brumsey  was  too  elated  by  his  discov- 
ery to  hesitate  about  this,  but  at  once  communi- 
cated to  the  Grand  Vizier  a  formal  declaration 
of  the  displeasure  with  which  England  would 
witness  such  an  infraction  of  a  solemn  engage- 
ment. 

As  no  sneh  project  had  ever  been  entertained, 
no  such  demand  ever  made.  Kulbash  Pasha  not 
only  laughed  heartily  at  the  mock-thunder  of  the 
Englishman,  but  at  the  energy  with  which  a 
small  official  always  opens  tire,  and  in  the  jocu- 
larity of  his  Turkish  nature — for  they  are  jocu- 
lar, these  children  of  the  Koran — he  told  the 
whole  incident  to  Atlee. 

'"Your  old  master,  Mr.  Atlee,"  said  he, 
"  would  scarcely  have  read  us  so  sharp  a  lesson 
as  that;  but,"  he  added,  "we  always  hear 
stronger  language  from  the  man  who  couldn't 
station  a  gun-boat  at  l'era  than  from  the  embas- 
sador who  could  call  up  the  Mediterranean  squad- 
ron from  Malta." 

If  Atlee's  first  letter  to  Lord  Danesbury  ad- 
mitted of  a  certain  disappointment  as  regarded 
S-peridionides,  it  made  ample  compensation  by 
the  keen  sketch  it  conveyed  of  how  matters  stood 
at  the  Porte,  the  uncertain  fate  of  Kulbash  Pa- 
Bha's  policy,  and  tho  scarcely  credible  blunder 
of  Bmmsey. 

To  tell  the  English  embassador  how  much  he 
was  regretted  and  how  much,  needed,  how  the 
partisans  of  England  felt  themselves  deserted 
and  abandoned  by  his  withdrawal,  and  how  grave- 
ly the  best  interests  of  Turkey  itself  were  compro- 
mised for  want  of  that  statesmanlike  intelligence 
that  had  up  to  this  guided  the  counsels  of  the  Di- 
van :  all  these  formed  only  a  part  of  Alice's  task, 
for  he  wrote  letters  and  leaders,  in  this  - 
all  the  great  journals  of  London,  Paris,  and  Vien- 
na :  so  that  when  the  Times  and  the  Post  asked  the 
English  people  whether  they  were  satisfied  that 
the  benefit  of  the  Crimean  war  should  he  flittered 


away  by  an  incompetent  youth  in  the  position 
of  a  man  of  high  ability,  the  Dibats  commented 
on   the   want    of  support    Fiance   Buffered   at  the 

Porte  by  the  inferior  agency  of  England,  and 
the  New  Pr€ese,  of  Vienna,  more  openly  de- 
clared that  it'  England  had  determined  to  annex 

Turkey,  and  govern  it  as  a  crown  colony,  it  would 

have  been  at  least  courtesy  to  have  informed  her 

co-signatories  of  the  fact. 

At  the  same  time  an  [rish  paper  in  the  na- 
tional interest  quietly  desired  to  be  informed 
how  was  it  that  the  man  who  made  such  a  lunll 
of  Ireland  could  be  so  much  needed  in  Turkey, 
aided  by  a  well-known  fcllow-ciiizen,  more  cele- 
brated for  smashing  lamps  and  wringing  off 
knockers  than  for  administering  the  rights  of  a 
colony  ;  and  by  which  of  his  services,  ballad- 
writing  or  beating  the  police,  he  had  gained  the 
favor  of  the  present  Cabinet.  "In  fact,"  con- 
eluded  the  writer,  " if  we  hear  more  of  this  ap- 
pointment, we  promise  our  readers  some  bio- 
graphical memoirs  of  the  respected  individual, 
which  may  serve  to  show  the  rising  youth  of  Ire- 
land by  what  gifts  success  in  life  is  most  surely 
achieved,  as  well  as  what  peculiar  accomplish- 
ments find  most  merit  with  the  grave-minded 
men  who  rule  us." 

A  Cork  paper  announced  on  the  same  day, 
among  the  promotions,  that  Joseph  Atlee  had 
been  made  C.B.,  and  mildly  inquired  if  the  hon- 
or were  bestowed  for  that  paper  on  Ireland  in 
the  last  Quarterly,  and  dryly  wound  up  by  say- 
ing: "We  are  not  selfish,  whatever  people  may 
say  of  us.  Our  friends  on  the  Bosphorus  shail 
have  the  noble  lord  cheap !  Let  his  Excellency 
only  assure  us  that  he  will  return  with  his  whole 
staff,  and  not  leave  us  Mr.  Cecil  Walpole,  or  any 
other  like  incapacity,  behind  him,  as  a  director 
of  the  Poor  Law  Board,  or  inspector-general  of 
jails,  or  deputy-assi.-tant-seeretary  any  where, 
and  we  assent  freely  to  the  change  that  scuds 
this  man  to  the  East,  and  leaves  us  here  to  floun- 
der on  with  such  aids  to  our  mistakes  as  a  Lib- 
eral government  can  safely  afford  to  spare  us." 

A  paragraph  in  another  part  of  the  same  pa- 
per, which  asked  if  the  Joseph  Atlee  who,  it  was 
rumored,  was  to  go  out  as  Governor  to  Labuan 
could  be  this  man,  had,  it  is  needless  to  say, 
been  written  by  himself. 

The  Levant  Herald  contented  itself  with  an 
authorized  contradiction  to  the  report  that  Sir 
Joseph  Atlcj — the  Sir  was  an  ingenious  blunder 
— had  conformed  to  Islamism,  and  was  in  treaty 
for  the  palace  ofTashkir  Bey  at  Therapia. 

With  a  neatness  and  a  tact  all  his  own,  Atlee 
narrated  Brnmsey's  blunder  in  a  tone  so  simple 
and  almost  deferential  that  Lord  Danesbnry 
could  show  the  letter  to  any  of  his  colleagues. 
The  whole  spirit  of  the  document  was  regret  that 
a  very  well-intentioned  gentleman  of  good  con- 
nections and  irreproachable  morals  should  he  an 
as>:  Not  that  he  employed  the  insufferable 
designation. 

The  Cabinet  at  home  were  on  thorns  lesl  the 
pres. —  the  vile  Tory  organs — should  get  wind 
of  the  case,  and  cap  the  blundering  government 
of  Ireland  with  the  almost  equally  gross  mistake 
in  diplomacy. 

"  We  shall  have  the  Standard  at  us.  "said  the 

Premier. 

"  Far  worse,"  replied  the  Foreign  Secretary. 
••I  shall  have  Brunow  here  in  a  white  passion 


H8 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


to  demand  an  apology,  and  the  recall  of  our  man 
at  Constantinople." 

To  accuse  a  well-known  house-breaker  of  a 
burglary  that  he  had  not  committed,  nor  had 
any  immediate  thought  of  committing,  is  the  very 
luckiest  stroke  of  fortune  that  could  befall  him. 
He  comes  out  not  alone  innocent,  but  injured! 
The  persecutions  by  which  bad  men  have  assail- 
ed him  for  years  have  at  last  their  illustration, 
and  the  calumniated  saint  walks  forth  into  the 
world,  his  head  high  and  his  port  erect,  even 
though  a  crow-bar  should  peep  out  from  his  coat 
pocket,  and  the  jingle  of  false  keys  go  with  him 
as  he  went. 

Far  too  astute  to  make  the  scandal  public  by 
the  newspapers,  Atlee  only  hinted  to  his  chief 
the  danger  that  might  ensue  if  the  secret  leaked 
out.  He  well  knew  that  a  press  scandal  is  a 
nine-day  fever,  but  a  menaced  publicity  is  a 
chronic  malady  that  may  go  on  for  years. 

The  last  lines  of  his  letter  were:  "I  have 
made  a  curious  and  interesting  acquaintance — a 
certain  Stephanotis  Bey,  governor  of  Scutari,  in 
Albania,  a  very  venerable  old  fellow,  who  was 
never  at  Constantinople  till  now.  The  pasha 
tells  me  in  confidence  that  he  is  enormously 
wealthy.  His  fortune  was  made  by  brigandage 
in  Greece,  from  which  he  retired  a  few  years 
ago,  shocked  by  the  sudden  death  of  his  brother, 
wno  was  decapitated  at  Corinth,  with  five  others. 
The  bey  is  a  nice,  gentle-mannered,  simple- 
hearted  old  man,  kind  to  the  poor,  and  eminent- 
ly hospitable.  He  has  invited  me  down  to  Pre- 
vesa  for  the  pig-shooting.  If  I  have  your  per- 
mission to  accept  the  invitation,  I  shall  make  a 
rapid  visit  to  Athens,  and  make  one  more  effort 
to  discover  Speridionides.  Might  I  ask  the 
favor  of  an  answer  by  telegraph  ?  So  many 
documents  and  archives  were  stolen  here  at  the 
time  of  the  fire  of  the  embassy  that,  by  a  timely 
measure  of  discredit,  we  can  impair  the  value  of 
all  papers  whatever,  and  I  have  already  a  mass 
of  false  dispatches,  notes,  and  telegrams  ready 
for  publication  and  subsequent  denial,  if  you 
advise  it.  In  one  of  these  I  have  imitated  Wal- 
pole's  style  so  well  that  I  scarcely  think  he  will 
read  it  without  misgivings.  With  so  much  '  bad 
bank  paper'  in  circulation,  Speridionides  is  not 
likely  to  set  a  high  price  on  his  own  'scrip.'  " 


CHAPTER  LIX. 


A    LETTKK-llAc;. 


Lord  Danesbdry  read  Atlee's  letter  with  an 
enjoyment  not  unlike  the  feeling  an  old  sports- 
man experiences  in  discovering  that  his  cover 
hack — an  animal  not  worth  twenty  pounds — was 
a  capital  fencer;  that  a  beast  only  destined  to 
the  commonest  of  uses  should  actually  have 
qualities  that  recalled  the  steeple-chaser — that 
the  scrubby  little  creature  with  the  thin  ne*ck  and 
the  shabby  quarters  should  have  a  turn  of  speed 
and  a  "  big  jump"  in  him — was  something  scarce- 
ly credible,  and  highly  interesting. 

Now  political  life  has  its  handicaps  like  the 
turf,  and  that  old  jockey  of  many  cabinets  began 
seriously  to  think  whether  he  might  not  lay  a 
little  money  on  that  dark  horse  Joe  Atlee,  and 
make  something  out  of  him  before  he  was  better 
known  in  "the  ring." 


He  was  smarting,  besides,  under  the  annoy- 
ances of  that  half-clever  fellow  Walpole  when 
Atlee's  letter  reached  him,  and,  though  the  un- 
lucky Cecil  had  taken  ill  and  kept  his  room  ever 
since  his  arrival,  his  Excellency  had  never  for- 
given him,  nor  by  a  word  or  sign  showed  any 
disposition  to  restore  him  to  favor. 

That  he  was  himself  overwhelmed  by  a  corre- 
spondence, and  left  to  deal  with  it  almost  alone, 
scarcely  contributed  to  reconcile  him  to  a  youth 
more  smarting,  as  he  deemed  it,  under  a  recent 
defeat  than  really  ill ;  and  he  pointed  to  the  mass 
of  papers  which  now  littered  his  breakfast-table, 
and  querulously  asked  his  niece  if  that  brilliant 
young  gentleman  up  stairs  could  be  induced  to 
postpone  his  sorrows  and  copy  a  dispatch. 

"  If  it  be  not  something  very  difficult,  or  re- 
quiring very  uncommon  care,  perhaps  I  could  do 
it  myself." 

"So  you  could,  Maude,  but  I  want  you  too: 
I  shall  want  to  copy  out  parts  of  Atlee's  last 
letter,  which  I  wish  to  place  before  the  Foreign 
Office  Secretary.  He  ought  to  see  what  his  pro- 
te'ge'  Brumsey  is  making  of  it.  These  are  the 
idiots  who  get  us  into  foreign  wars,  or  those 
apologetic  movements  in  diplomacy  which  are 
as  bad  as  lost  battles.  AVhat  a  contrast  to  Atlee. ! 
— a  rare  clever  dog,  Atlee :  and  so  awake  not 
only  to  one,  but  to  every  contingency  of  a  case. 
I  like  that  fellow :  I  like  a  fellow  that  stops  all 
the  earths !  Your  half-  clever  ones  never  do 
that ;  they  only  do  enough  to  prolong  the  race  : 
they  don't  win  it.  That  bright  relative  of  ours — 
Cecil — is  one  of  those.  Give  Atlee  Walpole's 
chances,  and  where  would  he  be  ?" 

A  very  faint  color  tinged  her  cheek  as  she  list- 
ened, but  did  not  speak. 

"  That's  the  real  way  to  put  it,"  continued  he, 
more  warmly.  "  Say  to  Atlee,  '  You  shall  enter 
public  life  without  any  pressing  need  to  take  of- 
fice for  a  livelihood  ;  you  shall  have  friends  able 
to  push  you  with  one  party,  and  relations  and 
connections  with  the  opposition,  to  save  you  from 
unnecessary  cavil  or  question  ;  you  shall  be  well 
introduced  socially,  and  have  a  seat  in  the  House 
before — '     What's  his  age?  five-and-twenty  ?" 

"  I  should  say  about  three-and-twenty,  my 
lord ;  but  it  is  a  mere  guess." 

"  Three-and-twenty,  is  he  ?  I  suspect  you  are 
right — he  can't  be  more.  But  what  a  deal  the 
fellow  has  crammed  for  that  time! — plenty  of 
rubbish,  no  doubt :  old  dramatists  and  such  like; 
but  he  is  well  up  in  his  treaties,  and  there's  not 
a  speaker  of  eminence  in  the  House  that  he  can 
not  make  contradict  himself  out  of  Hansard." 

"Has  he  any  fortune?"  sighed  she,  so  lazily 
that  it  scarcely  sounded  as  a  question. 

"I  suppose  not." 

"Nor  any  family?" 

"Brothers  and  sisters  he  may  have — indeed, 
he  is  sure  to  have;  but  if  you  mean  connections 
— belongings  to  persons  of  admitted  station — of 
course  he  has  not.  The  name  alone  might  show 
it." 

Another  little  sigh,  fainter  than  before,  fol- 
lowed, and  all  was  still. 

"Five  years  hence,  if  even  so  much,  the  ple- 
beian name  and  the  unknown  stock  will  be  in  his 
favor ;  bat  we  have  to  wade  through  a  few  dreary 
measures  before  that.  I  wish  he  was  in  the 
House :   he  ought  to  be  in  the  House." 

"  Is  there  a  vacancy?"  said  she,  lazily. 


LORD  KILGOBB1X. 


1411 


'•Two.  Then'  is  Cradford,  and  there  is  that 
Scotch  place —  tin-  something-Burg,  which,  of 
coarse,  one  of  their  own  people  "ill  insist  on." 

"Coaldn'l   he  have  Cradford?"  asked  she, 

•with  a  very  slight  animation. 

"  Ee might — at  least  if  Brand  knew  him.  he'd 
see  he  was  the  man  they  wanted.  I  almost  think 
I'll  write  a  line  to  Brand,  and  send  him  some 
extracts  of  the  last  letter.     1  will — here  goes  :" 

"If  you'll  tell  me — " 

"Di:.vrcB., — Read  the  inclosed,  ami  say  have 
von  any  body  better  than  the  writer  for  your  an- 
cient borough  of  Cradford?  The  fellow  can 
talk,  and  I  am  sure  he  can  speak  as  well  as  he 
writes,  lie  is  well  up  in  all  Irish  press  iniquities. 
Better  than  all.  he  has  neither  prejudices  nor 
principles,  nor,  as  I  believe,  a  five-pound  note  in 
the  world.  He  is  now  in  Greece,  hut  I'll  have 
him  over  by  telegraph  if  you  give  me  encourago- 
lnent. 

"Tell  Tycross  at  F.  O.  to  send  Walpole  to 
Guatemala,  and  order  him  to  his  post  at  once. 
G.  will  have  told  you  that  1  shall  not  go  hack  to 
Ireland.  The  blander  of  my  ever  seeing  it  was 
the  blackest  in  the  life  of  yours, 

"D.VXESISCUY.  " 

The  first  letter  his  lordship  opened  gave  him 
very  little  time  or  inclination  to  bestow  more 
thought  on  Atlee.  It  was  from  the  head  of  the 
Cabinet,  and  in  the  coldest  tone  imaginable. 
The  wiiter  directed  his  attention  to  what  had 
occurred  in  the  House  the  night  before,  and  how 
impossible  it  was  for  any  Government  to  depend 
on  colleagues  whose  administration  had  been  so 
palpably  blundering  and  unwise.  "Conciliation 
can  only  succeed  by  the  good  faith  it  inspires. 
Once  that  it  leaks  out  you  are  more  eager  to 
achieve  a  gain  than  confer  a  benefit,  you  cease 
to  conciliate,  and  you  only  cajole.  Now  your 
lordship  might  have  apprehended  that,  in  this 
especial  game,  the  Popish  priest  is  your  master 
and  mine — not  to  add  that  he  gives  an  undivided 
attention  to  a  subject  which  we  have,  to  treat  as 
one  among  many,  and  with  the  relations  and 
bearings  which  attach  it  to  other  questions  of 

state. 

"That  you  can  not,  with  advantage  to  the 
Crown,  or,  indeed,  to  your  own  dignity,  continue 
to  hold  your  present  office  is  clear  enough  ;  and 
the  only  question  now  is  in  what  way,  consistent 
with  the  safety  of  the  Administration  and  re- 
spect fa-  your  lordship's  high  character,  the  re- 
linquishment had  best  be  made.  The.  debate  has 
been,  on  Gregory's  motion,  adjourned.  It  will 
be  continued    fin   Tuesday,    and    my   colleagues 

opine  that  if  your  resignation  was  in  their  hands 

before  that  day  certain  leaders  of  the  Opposition 
would  consent  to  withdraw  their  motion.  I  am 
not  wholly  agreed  with  the  other  members  of  the 
Cabinet  on  this  point :  but,  without  embarrassing 
you  with  the  reasons  which  sway  my  judgment, 
I    will   simply   place   the   matter    before    you    for 

your  own  consideration,  perfectly  assured,  as  I 
am,  that  your  decision  will  be  come  to  only  on 
consideration  of  what  you  deem  best  for  the  in- 
terests of  the.  country. 

"My  colleague  at  the  Foreign  Office  will 
■write  to-day  or  to-morrow  with  reference  to  your 
firmer  post,  and  I  only  allude  to  it  now  to  say 
the  unmixed  satisfaction  it  would  give  the  Cab- 


inet to  find  that  the  greatest  interests  of  Eastern 
ESurope  were  once   more   in   the  keeping  of  the 

ablest    diplomatist    of  the    age,  and   one    of  the 

most  far-sighted  of  modern  statesmen. 

"Amotion  for  the  abolition  of  the  Irish  nce- 
royalty  is  now  on  the  notice  paper,  and  it  will 
be  matter  for  consideration  whether  we  ma\  no! 
make  it  an  open  question  in  the  Cabinet.  Per- 
haps  your  lordship  would  favor  me  witli  such 
opinions  on  the  subject  as  your  experienc 
gest. 

"The  extra  session  has  wearied  out  every 
one,  and  we  can  with  difficulty   make  a  house". 

" Yours  sincerely,  '<;.  Anm-.ii. 

The  next  he  opened  was  briefer.     It  ran  thus  i 

"Dear  Danesbukt, — You  must  go  back  at 
once  to  Turkey.  That  inscrutable  idiot  Brum- 
sey  has  discovered  another  mare's-nest,  and  we 
are  lucky  if  Gortchakoft'  does  not  call  upon  as 
for  public  apology.  Brunow  is  outrageous,  and 
demands  B.'s  recall.  I  sent  off  the  dispatch 
while  he  was  with  me.  Leflo  Pasha  is  very  ill. 
they  say  dying,  so  that  you  must  haste  back  to 
your  old  friend  (query:  which  is  he?)  Eulbash, 
if  it  be  not  too  late,  as  Apponyi  thinks. 

"Yours,  G." 

"P.S. — Take  none  of  your  Irish  suit  with 
you  to  the  East.  The  papers  are  sure  to  note 
the  names,  and  attack  you  if  you  should.  They 
shall  be  cared  for  somehow,  if  there  he  any  who 
interest  you. 

"  You  have  seen  that  the  House  was  not  over- 
civil  to  you  on  Saturday  night,  though  A.  thinks 
j  you  got  off  well." 

"Resign!"  cried  he,  aloud,  as  he  dashed  the 

.  letter  on  the  table.  "  I  think  I  would  resign  ! 
If  they  asked  what  would  tempt  me  to  go  back 

I  there,  I  should  be  sorely  puzzled  to  name  it. 
No  ;  not  the  blue  ribbon  itself  would  induce  me 
to  face  that  chaos  once  more.     As  to  the  bint 

j  about  my  Irish  staff,  it  was  quite  unnecessary. 
Not  very  likely,  Maude,  we  should  take  Wal- 
pole to  finish  on  the  Bosphorus  what  he  has  be- 

I  gun  on  the  Liffey." 

He  turned  hastily  to  the  Times,  and  threw 
his  eyes  over  the  summary  of  the  debate.  It 
was  acrimonious  and  sneery.  The  opposition 
leaders,  with  accustomed  smoothness,  had  made 
it  appear  that  the  Viceroy's  Eastern  experience 
had  misled  him,  and  that  he  thought  "  Tip- 
perary  was  a  pashalic!"    Imbued  with  notions 

of  wholesale  measures  of  government,  so  appli- 
cable to  Turkey,  it  was  easy  to  see  how  the  er- 
rors had  affected  his  Irish  policy.  "There 
was,"  said  the.  speaker,  "somebody  to  lie  con- 
ciliated in  Ireland,  and  some  one  to  In'  hanged  : 
and  what  more  natural  than  that  he  should  for- 
get which,  or  thai  he  should  make  the  mistake 
of  keeping  all  the  (lattery  for  the  rebel  and  the 
rope  for  the  priest  !"  The  neatness  of  the  illus- 
tration took  with  the  House,  and  the  speaker 
was  interrupted  by  "much  laughter."  And  then 
he  went  on  to  say  that,  "as  with  those  well- 
known  ointments  or  medicines,  whose  specific 
virtues  lay  in  the  enormous  costliness  of  some  of 

the  constituents,   so    it   must   givt speakahle 

value  to  the  efficacy  of  those  healing  me 

for    Ireland   to   know    that   the   whole    British 

Constitution  was   boiled  down  to  make  one  of 


150 


LOED  KILGOBBIN. 


them ;  and  every  right  and  liberty  brayed  in  the 
raortar  to  furnish  even  one  duse  of  this  precious 
elixir."     And  then  there  was  '"laughter"  again. 

"  He  ought  to  be  more  merciful  to  charlatans. 
Dogs  do  not  eat  dogs,"  muttered  his  lordship  to 
himself,  and  then  asked  his  niece  to  send  Wal- 
pole  to  him. 

It  was  some  time  before  "Walpole  appeared, 
and  when  he  did  it  was  with  such  a  wasted  look 
and  care-worn  aspect  as  might  have  pleaded  in 
his  favor. 

' '  Maude  told  me  you  wished  to  see  me,  my 
lord, "  said  he,  half  diffidently. 

"Did  I?  eh?  Did  I  say  so?  I  forget  all 
about  it.  What  could  it  be  ?  Let  us  see — was 
it  this  stupid  row  they  were  making  in  the 
House  ?     Have  you  read  the  debate  ?" 

"  No,  my  lord  ;  not  looked  at  a  paper." 

"Of  course  not;  you  have  been  too  ill,  too 
weak.     Have  you  seen  a  doctor  ?" 

"  1  don't  care  to  see  a  doctor  ;  they  all  say  the 
same  thing.     I  only  need  rest  and  quiet." 

"Only  that!  Why,  they  are  the  two  things 
nobody  can  get.  Power  can  not  have  them,  nor 
money  buy  them.  The  retired  tradesman — I 
beg  his  pardon,  the  cheese-monger:  he  is  always 
a  cheese-monger  now  who  represents  vulgarity 
and  bank  stock — he  may  have  his  rest  and  quiet ; 
but  a  minister  must  not  dream  of  such  a  luxury, 
nor  any  one  who  serves  a  minister.  Where's 
the  quiet  to  come  from,  1  ask  you,  after  such  a 
tirade  of  abuse  as  that?"  And  he  pointed  to 
the  Times.  "There's  Punch,  too,  with  a  pic- 
ture of  me  measuring  out  '  Danesbury's  drops,  to 
cure  loyalty.'  That  slim  youth  handling  the 
spoon  is  meant  for  you,  Walpole." 

"Perhaps  so,  my  lord,"  said  he,  coldly. 

"  They  haven't  given  you  too  much  leg,  Cecil," 
said  the  other,  laughing ;  but  Cecil  scarcely  rel- 
ished the  joke. 

"I  say,  Piccadilly  is  scarcely  the  place  for  a 
man  after  that — I  mean,  of  course,  for  a  while," 
continued  he.  "  These  things  are  not  eternal  ; 
they  have  their  day.  They  had  me  last  week 
traveling  in  Ireland  on  a  camel ;  and  I  was  made 
to  say  that  '  the  air  of  the  desert  always  did  me 
good !'     Poor  fun,  was  it  not  ?" 

"  Very  poor  fun  indeed  !" 

"And  you  were  the  boy  preparing  my  chi- 
bouque, and  I  must  say,  devilish  like." 

"  I  did  not  see  it,  my  lord." 

"That's  the  best  way:  don't  look  at  the  car- 
icatures ;  don't  read  the  Saturday  Revieiv  ;  nev- 
er know  there  is  any  thing  wrong  with  you  ;  nor, 
if  you  can,  that  any  thing  disagrees  with  you." 

"  I  should  like  the  last  delusion  best  of  all," 
said  he. 

"Who  would  not?"  cried  the  old  lord.  "The 
way  I  used  to  eat  potted  prawns  at  Eton,  and 
peach  jam  after  them,  and  iced  guavas,  and  never 
felt  better !     And  now  every  thing  gives  acidity." 

"Just  because  our  fathers  and  grandfathers 
would  have  those  potted  prawns  you  spoke  of. " 

"No,  no;  you  are  all  wrong.  It's  the  new 
race — it's  the  new  generation.  They  don't  bear 
reverses.  Whenever  the  world  goes  wrong  with 
them,  they  talk  as  they  feel,  they  lose  appetite, 
and  they  fall  down  to  a  state  like  your — a — 
Walpole — like  your  own  !'' 

"Well,  my  lord,  I  don't  think  I  could  be 
called  captious  for  saying  that  the  world  has  not 
gone  over-well  with  me." 


"Ah — hum.  You  mean —  No  matter.  I  sup- 
pose the  luckiest  hand  is  not  all  trumps.  The 
thing  is  to  score  the  trick  :  that's  the  point,  Wal- 
pole— to  score  the  trick!" 

"  Up  to  this  I  have  not  been  so  fortunate." 

"Well,  who  knows  what's  coming?  I  have 
just  asked  the  Foreign  Office  people  to  give  you 
Guatemala  :   not  a  bad  thing,  as  times  go." 

"Why,  my  lord,  it's  banishment  and  barba- 
rism together.  The  pay  is  miserable.  It  is  far 
away,  and  it  is  not  Pall  Mall,  or  the  Rue  Rivoli." 

"  No  ;  not  that.  There  is  twelve  hundred  for 
salary,  and  something  for  a  house,  and  some- 
thing more  for  a  secretary  that  you  don't  keep, 
and  an  office  that  you  need  not  have.  In  fact, 
it  makes  more  than  two  thousand  ;  and  for  a  sin- 
gle man,  in  a  place  where  he  can  not  be  extrava- 
gant, it  will  suffice." 

"Yes,  my  lord;  but  I  was  presumptuous 
enough  to  imagine  a  condition  in  which  I  should 
not  be  a  single  man,  and  I  speculated  on  the  pos- 
sibility that  another  might  venture  to  share  even 
poverty  as  my  companion." 

"A  woman  wouldn't  go  there — at  least,  she 
ought  not.  It's  all  bush  life,  or  something  like 
it.  Why  should  a  woman  bear  that  ?  or  a  man 
ask  her  to  do  so  ?" 

"You  seem  to  forget,  my  lord,  that  affections 
may  be  engaged  and  pledges  interchanged." 

"  Get  a  bill  of  indemnity,  therefore,  to  release 
you.  Better  that  than  wait  for  yellow  fever  to 
do  it. " 

"  I  confess  that  your  lordship's  words  give  me 
]  great  discouragement,  and  if  I  could  possibly  be- 
lieve that  Lady  Maude  was  of  your  mind — " 

"  Maude !  Maude !  Why,  you  never  imagined 
that  Lady  Maude  would  leave  comfort  and  civ- 
ilization for  this  bush  life,  with  its  rancheros  and 
rattlesnakes!  I  confess,"  said  he,  with  a  bitter 
laugh,  "I  did  not  think  either  of  you  was  bent 
on  being  Paul  or  Virginia." 

"  Have  I  your  lordship's  permission  to  ask  her 
own  judgment  in  the  matter:  I  mean,  with  the 
assurance  of  its  not  being  biased  by  you  ?" 

"  Freely,  most  freely  do  I  give  it.  She  is  not 
the  girl  I  believe  her  if  she  leaves  you  long  in 
doubt.  But  I  prejudge  nothing,  and  I  influence 
nothing. " 

"Am  I  to  conclude,  my  lord,  that  I  am  sure 
of  this  appointment  ?" 

"  I  almost  believe  I  can  say  you  are.  I  have 
asked  for  a  reply  by  telegraph,  and  I  shall  prob- 
ably have  one  to-morrow." 

"You  seem  to  have  acted  under  the  convic- 
tion that  I  should  be  glad  to  get  this  place." 

"Yes;  such  was  my  conclusion.  After  that 
'  fiasco'  in  Ireland,  you  must  go  somewhere,  for 
a  time  at  least,  out  of  the  way.  Now  as  a  man  can 
not  die  for  half  a  dozen  years  and  come  back  to 
life  when  people  have  forgotten  his  unpopularity, 
the  next  best  thing  is  South  America.  Bogota 
and  the  Argentine  Republic  have  whitewashed 
many  a  reputation." 

"  I  will  remember  your  lordship's  wise  words." 

"Do  so,"  said  my  lord,  curtly,  for  he  felt  of- 
fended at  the  flippant  tone  in  which  the  other 
spoke.  "  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  I'd  send  the 
writer  of  that  letter  yonder  to  Yucatan  or  Costa 
Rica." 

"  Who  may  the  gifted  writer  be,  my  lord  ?" 

"  Atlee,  Joe  Atlee;  the  fellow  you  sent  over 
here." 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


L51 


"  Indeed  !"  was  :ill  that  Walpole  could  utter. 

"Just  take  it  to  your  room  and  read  it  over. 
You  will  he  astonished  at  the  thing.  The  fellow 
has  got  to  know  the  beaiings  of  a  whole  set  of 
new  questions:  ami  how  he  understands  the  men 
he  hus  got  t<>  deal  with  !" 

•■  Willi  your  leave  I  will  do  so,"  said  he,  as 
he  took  the  letter  ami  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  LX. 


Cecil  Wawole's  Italian  experiences  had  sup- 
plied him  with  an  Italian  proverb,  which  says, 
"Tntto  il  mnl  non  Tien  per  nuocere,"or,  in  oth- 
er words,  that  no  evil  comes  unmixed  with  good  ; 
and  there  is  a  marvelous  amount  of  wisdom  in 
the  adage. 

That  there  is  a  deep  philosophy,  too,  in  show- 
ing how  carefully  we  should  sift  misfortune  to  the 
dregs,  and  ascertain  what  of  benefit  we  might 
rescue  from  the  dross,  is  not  to  be  denied  ;  and 
the  more  we  reflect  on  it,  the  more  should  we  see 
that  the  germ  of  all  real  consolation  is  intimate- 
ly bound  up  in  this  reservation. 

No  sooner,  then,  did  Walpole,  in  novelist 
phrase,  "realize  the  fact"  that  he  was  to  go  to 
Guatemala,  than  he  set  very  practically  to  in- 
quire what  advantages,  if  any,  could  be  squeezed 
out  of  this  unpromising  incident. 

The  creditors — and  he  had  some — would  not 
like  it !  The  dreary  process  of  dunning  a  man 
across  half  the  globe,  the  hopelessness  of  appeals 
that  took  two  months  to  come  to  hand,  and  the 
inefficacy  of  threats  that  were  wafted  over  miles 
of  ocean!  And  certainly  he  smiled  as  bethought 
of  these,  and  rather  maliciously  bethought  him 
of  the  truculent  importunity  that  menaced  him  , 
with  some  form  of  publicity  in  the  more  insolent  ' 
appeal  to  some  minister  at  home.  "Our  tai- 
lor will  moderate  his  language,  our  jeweler  will 
appreciate  the  merits  of  polite  Letter-writing," 
thought  he.  "A  few  parallels  of  latitude  be- 
come a  great  school-master." 

But  there  were  greater  advantages  even  than 
these.  This  banishment — for  it  was  nothing  less 
—  could  not  by  possibility  be  persisted  in,  and  if 
Lady  Maude  should  consent  to  accompany  him, 
would  be  very  short-lived. 

"The  women  will  take  it  up,"  said  he,  "and 
with  that  charming  clanship  that  distinguishes 
them,  will  lead  the  Foreign  Secretary  a  life  of  mis- 
ery till  he  gives  us  something  better.  '  Maude 
says  the  thermometer  has  never  been  lower  than 
1292  degrees,  ami  that  there  is  no  shade.  The 
nights  have  no  breeze,  and  are  rather  hotter  than 
the  days.  She  objects  Beriously  to  l>e  waited  on 
by  people  in  feathere,  and  very  few  of  them,  and 
she  remonstrate,  against  alligators  in  the  kitch- 
en-garden, and  wild-cats  coming  after  the  ca- 
naries in  the  drawing-room.1 

"I  hear  the  catalogue  of  misfortunes,  which  be- 
gins with  nothing  to  eat,  pint  the  terror  of  being 
eaten.  I  recognize  the  lament  over  lost  civiliza- 
tion and  a  wasted  life,  and  I  see  Downing  Street 
besieged  with  ladies  in  deputations,  declaring 
that  they  care  nothing  for  parties  or  politics,  but 
a  great  deal  for  the  life  of  a  dear  young  creature. 
who  is  to  be  sacrificed  to  nppea-e  some  people 
belonging  to  the  existing  Ministry.     1  think  I 


know  how  beautifully  illogical  they  will  he,  but 
how  necessarily  useful;  and  now  for  Maude  her- 
self." 

Of  Lady  Maude  Bickerstaffe  Walpole  had  Been 

next    to  nothing  since    his  return;    his  own    id 

health  had  conlincd  him  to  his  room,  and  her  in- 
quiries after  him  had  been  cold  and  formal;  and 
though  he  wrote  a  tender  little  note  and  asked  for 

hooks,  Blying  hinting  what  measure  of  bli>-  a  five 

minutes'  visit  would  confer  on  him,  the  books  he 
begged  for  were  sent,  but  not  a  line  of  answer  ac 
companied  them.  On  the  whole,  he  did  not  dis- 
like this  little  show  of  resentment.  What  he  real- 
ly dreaded  was  indifference.  So  long  as  a  wom- 
an is  piqued  with  you,  something  can  always  he 
done;  it  is  only  when  she  becomes  careless  and 
unmindful  of  what  you  do  or  say,  or  look  or 
think,  that  the  game  looks  hopeless.      Therefore 

it   was  that  he  regarded   this  de nstration  of 

anger  as  rather  favorable  than  otherwise. 

"Atlee  has  told  her  of  the  Greek!  Atlee  has 
stirred  up  her  jealousy  of  the  Titian  Girl.  Atlee 
has  drawn  a  long  indictment  against  me,  and  the 
fellow  has  done  me  good  service  in  giving  me 
something  to  plead  to.  Let  me  have  a  charge 
to  meet,  and  I  have  no  misgivings.  What  real- 
lv  unmans  me  is  the  distrust  that  will  not  even 
titter  an  allegation,  and  the  indifference  that  does 
not  want  disproof." 

He  learned  that  her  ladyship  was  in  the  gar- 
den, and  he  hastened  down  to  meet  her.  In  his 
own  small  way  Walpole  was  a  clever  tactician  ; 
and  he  counted  much  on  the  ardor  with  which 
he  should  open  his  case,  and  the  amount  of  im- 
petuosity that  would  give  her  very  little  time  for 
reflection. 

"  I  shall  at  once  assume  that  her  fate  is  irrev- 
ocably knitted  to  my  own,  and  I  shall  act  as 
though  the  tie  was  indissoluble.  After  all,  if 
she  puts  me  to  the  proof,  I  have  her  letters — cold 
and  guarded  enough,  it  is  true.  No  fervor,  no 
gush  of  any  kind,  but  calm  dissertations  on  a  fu- 
ture that  must  come,  and  a  certain  dignified  ac- 
ceptance of  her  own  part  in  it.  Not  the  kind  of 
letters  that  a  Q.  C.  could  read  with  much  rapture 
before  a  crowded  court,  and  ask  the  assembled 
grocers,  '  What  happiness  has  life  to  offer  to  the 
man  robbed  of  those  precious  pledges  of  atlee 
tion — how  was  he  to  face  the  world,  stripped  of 
every  attribute  that  cherished  hope  and  fed  am- 
bition ?' " 

He  was  walking  slowly  toward  her  when  he 
first  saw  her,  and  he  had  some  seconds  to  prepare 
himself  ere  they  met. 

"  I  came  down  after  you,  Maude,"  said  he,  in 
a  voice  ingeniously  modulated  between  the  tone 
of  old  intimacy  and  a  slight  suspicion  of  emotion. 
"  I  came  down  to  tell  you  my  news"— he  waited, 
and  then  added — "my  fate!" 

Still  she  was  silent,  the  changed  word  exciting 
no  more  interest  than  it--  predecessor. 

"Feeling  88  I  do,"  he  went  on,  '"and  how  we 
Btand  toward  each  other,  1  can  not  hut  know  thai 
my  destiny  has  nothing  of  good  or  evil  in  it,  ex- 
cept as  it  contributes  to  your  happiness."  He  stole 
a  glance  at  her,  Li- 1  there  was  nothing  in  that 
cold,  calm  face  that  could  guide  him.  With  a  bold 
effort,  however,  he  went  on  :  "  My  own  fortune  in 
lite  ha- but  one  test—  is  my  existence  to  he  -bared 
with  you  or  not?  With  your  hand  in  mine, 
Maude"— ami  he  grasped  the  marble  cold  fingers 
a-  be  spoke — "poverty,  exile,  hardships,  and  the 


152 


LORD  KILGOBBIX. 


world's  neglect  have  no  terrors  for  me.  With 
your  love,  every  ambition  of  my  heart  is  grati- 
fied.    Without'it— " 

"Well,  without  it — what?"  said  she,  with  a 
faint  smile. 

"You  would  not  torture  me  by  such  a  doubt? 
Would  you  rack  my  soul  by  a  misery  I  have  not 
words  to  speak  of?" 

"I  thought  you  were  going  to  say  what  it 
might  be,  when  I  stopped  you." 

"  Oh,  drop  this  cold  and  bantering  tone,  dear- 
est Maude.  Remember  the  question  is  now  of 
my  very  life  itself.  If  you  can  not  be  affection- 
ate, at  least  be  reasonable  !" 

"  I  shall  try,"  said  she,  calmly. 

Stung  to  the  quick  by  a  composure  which  he 
could  not  imitate,  he  was  able,  however,  to  re- 
press every  show  of  anger,  and  with  a  manner 
cold  and  measured  as  her  own  he  went  on : 
"My  lord  advises  that  I  should  go  back  to  di- 
plomacy, and  has  asked  the  Ministry  to  give  me 
Guatemala.  It  is  nothing  very  splendid.  It  is 
far  away  in  a  remote  part  of  the  world  ;  not  over- 
well  paid,  but  at  least  I  shall  be  charge'  d'af- 
faires, and  by  three  years — four  at  most — of  this 
banishment  1  shall  have  a  claim  for  something 
better." 

"  I  hope  you  may,  I'm  sure,"  said  she,  as  he 
seemed  to  expect  something  like  a  remark. 

"That  is  not  enough,  Maude,  if  the  hope  be  not 
a  wish — and  a  wish  that  includes  self-interest." 

"I  am  so  dull,  Cecil:  tell  me  what  you 
mean." 

"  Simply  this,  then  :  does  your  heart  tell  you 
that  you  could  share  this  fortune,  and  brave  these 
hardships?  In  one  word,  will  you  say  what  will 
make  me  regard  this  fate  as  the  happiest  of  my 
existence?  will  you  give  me  this  dear  hand  as 
my  own — my  own  ?"  and  he  pressed  his  lips  upon 
it  rapturously  as  he  spoke. 

She  made  no  effort  to  release  her  hand ;  nor 
for  a  second  or  two  did  she  say  one  word.  At 
last,  in  a  very  measured  tone,  she  said,  "I 
should  like  to  have  back  my  letters." 

"  Your  letters?  Do  you  mean,  Maude,  that 
— that  you  would  break  with  me  ?" 

"  I  mean  certainly  that  I  should  not  go  to  this 
horrid  place — " 

"  Then  I  shall  refuse  it,"  broke  he  in,  impet- 
uously. 

"  Not  that  only,  Cecil,"  said  she,  for  the  first 
time  faltering;  "but  except  being  very  good 
friends,  I  do  not  desire  that  there  should  be 
more  between  us." 

"  No  engagement  ?" 

"No,  no  engagement.  I  do  not  believe  there 
ever  was  an  actual  promise,  at  least  on  my  part. 
Other  people  had  no  right  to  promise  for  either 
of  us — and — and.  in  fact,  the  present  is  a  good 
opportunity  to  end  it." 

"  To  end  it?"  echoed  he,  in  intense  bitterness 
— "to  end  it?" 

"And  I  should  like  to  have  my  letters,"  said 
she,  calmly,  while  she  took  some  freshly  plucked 
Mowers  from  a  basket  on  her  arm,  and  appeared 
to  seek  for  something  at  the  bottom  of  the 
basket. 

"  I  thought  you  would  comedown  here,  Cecil," 
said  she,  "when  you  had  spoken  to  my  uncle. 
Indeed,  I  was  sure  you  would,  and  so  I  brought 
these  with  me."  And  she  drew  forth  a  some- 
what thick  bundle  of  notes  and  letters  tied  with 


a  narrow  ribbon.  " These  are  yours,"  said  she, 
handing  them. 

Far  more  piqued  by  her  cold  self-possession 
than  really  wouuded  in  feeling,  he  took  the  pack- 
et without  a  word.  At  last  he  said,  "This  is 
your  own  wish  —  your  own,  unprompted  by 
others  ?" 

She  stared  almost  insolently  at  him  for  an- 
swer. 

"  I  mean,  Maude — oh,  forgive  me  if  I  utter 
that  dear  name  once  more! — I  mean  there  lias 
been  no  influence  used  to  make  you  treat  me 
thus?" 

"You  have  known  me  to  very  little  purpose 
all  these  years,  Cecil  Walpole,  to  ask  me  such  a 
question." 

"I  am  not  sure  of  that.  I  know  too  well 
what  misrepresentation  and  calumny  can  do  any- 
where ;  and  I  have  been  involved  in  certain  dif- 
ficulties which,  if  not  explained  away,  might  be 
made  accusations — grave  accusations. " 

"I  make  none — I  listen  to  none." 

"I  have  become  an  object  of  complete  indif- 
ference, then  ?  You  feel  no  interest  in  me  ei- 
ther way  ?  If  I  dared,  Maude.  I  should  like  to 
ask  the  date  of  this  change — when  it  began  ?" 

"I  don't  well  know  what  you  mean.  There 
was  not,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  any  thing  between 
us.  except  a  certain  esteem  and  respect,  of  which 
convenience  was  to  make  something  more.  Now 
convenience  has  broken  faith  with  us,  but  we  are 
not  the  less  very  good  friends — excellent  friends 
if  you  like." 

"Excellent  friends!  I  could  swear  to  the 
friendship  !"  said  he,  with  a  malicious  energy. 

"  So  at  least  I  mean  to  be,"  said  she,  calmly. 

"  I  hope  it  is  not  I  shall  fail  in  the  compact. 
And  now  will  my  quality  of  friend  entitle  me  to 
ask  one  question,  Maude  ?" 

"  I  am  not  sure  till  I  hear  it." 

"  I  might  have  hoped  a  better  opinion  of  my 
discretion  :  at  all  events,  I  will  risk  my  question. 
What  I  would  ask  is,  how  far  Joseph  Atlee  is 
mixed  up  with  your  judgment  of  me  ?  Will  you 
tell  me  this  ?" 

"I  will  only  tell  you,  Sir,  that  you  are  over- 
vain  of  that  discretion  you  believe  you  possess." 

"Then  I  am  right!"  cried  he,  almost  inso- 
lently.     "  I  have  hit  the  blot." 

A  glance,  a  mere  glance  of  haughty  disdain, 
was  the  only  reply  she  made. 

"I  am  shocked,  Maude,"  said  he  at  last. 
"I  am  ashamed  that  we  should  spend  in  this 
way  perhaps  the  very  last  few  minutes  we  shall 
ever  pass  together.  Heart-broken  as  I  am,  I 
should  desire  to  carry  away  one  memory  at  least 
of  her  whose  love  was  the  loadstar  of  my  ex- 
istence. " 

"I  want  my  letters,  Cecil,"  said  she,  coldly. 

"So  that  you  came  down  here  with  mine, 
prepared  for  this  rapture,  Maude?  It  was  all 
prearranged  in  your  mind  ?" 

"  More  discretion,  more  discretion,  or  good 
taste — which  is  it  ?" 

"  I  ask  pardon,  mostly  humbly  I  ask  it ;  your 
rebuke  was  quite  just.  I  was  presuming  upon  a 
past  which  has  no  relation  to  the  present.  I 
shall  not  offend  any  more.  And  now,  what  was 
it  you  said  ?" 

"I  want  my  letters." 

"They  are  here,"  said  he,  drawing  a  thick 
envelope  fully  crammed  with  letters  from  his 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


l:..: 


pocket  and  placing  it  in  her  hand.  "  Scarcely 
as  carefully  or  as  nicely  kept  oa  mine,  for  they 
have  been  read  over  t » >•  >  many  times  and  with 
what  rapture,  Maude !    How  pressed  to  my  heart 

ami  to  inv  lips — how  treasured!  Shall  I  tell 
von  ?" 

There  was  that  of  exaggerated  passion — al- 


antieipation  of  my  wishes  that  I  ask  for  nothill  ■ 

more. 

lie  bowed  his  head  lowly;  lint  his  sinilc  was 
one  of  triumph,  as  lie  thought  how,  this  lime  at 
least,  he  had  wounded  her. 

"There    are    gome    trinkets,  (  Veil,"  said    she, 

coldly,  "which  1  have  made  into  a  packet,  and 


most  rant — in  these  last  words  that  certainly  did 
not  impress  them  with  reality;  and  either  Lady 
Maude  was  right  in  doubting  their  sincerity,  or 
cruelly  unjust ;  for  she  smiled  faintly  us  she 
heard  them. 

"  No,  don't  tell   me,"  said    she,  faintly.      "  I 
am  already  so  much  flattered  hy  a  courteous 


you  will  find  them  on  your  dressing-table.  And 
— it  may  save  you  some  discomfort  it"  I  say  that 
you  need  not  give  yourself  trouble  to  recover  a 

little  ring  with  an  opal  I  once  gave  you,  for  I 
have  it  now." 

'■  .May   [   dare  ?" 

"You   may  nut  dare.      Good-hy."     And   she 


154 


LORD  KLLGOBBIN. 


gave  her  hand.  He  bent  over  it  for  a  moment, 
scarcely  touched  it  with  his  lips,  and  turned 
away. 


CHAPTER  LXL 
A  "change  of  front." 

Of  all  the  discomfitures  in  life  there  was  one 
which  Cecil  Walpole  did  not  believe  could  pos- 
sibly befall  him.  Indeed,  if  it  could  have  been 
made  a  matter  of  betting,  he  would  have  wagered 
all  he  had  in  the  world  that  no  woman  should  ever 
be  able  to  say  she  refused  his  offer  of  marriage. 

He  had  canvassed  the  matter  very  often  with 
himself,  and  always  arrived  at  the  same  conclu- 
sion :  that  if  a  man  were  not  a  mere  coxcomb, 
blinded  by  vanity  and  self-esteem,  he  could  al- 
ways know  how  a  woman  really  felt  toward  him  ; 
and  that  where  the  question  admitted  of  a  doubt 
— where,  indeed,  there  was  even  a  flaw  in  the 
absolute  certaiuty — no  man  with  a  due  sense  of 
what  was  owing  to  himself  would  risk  his  digni- 
ty by  the  possibility  of  a  refusal.  It  was  a  part 
of  his  peculiar  ethics  that  a  man  thus  rejected 
was  damaged,  pretty  much  as  a  bill  that  has 
been  denied  acceptance.  It  was  the  same  wound 
to  credit,  the  same  outrage  on  character.  Con- 
sidering, therefore,  that  nothing  obliged  a  man 
to  make  an  offer  of  his  hand  till  he  had  assured 
himself  of  success,  it  was  to  his  thinking  a  mere 
gratuitous  pursuit  of  insult  to  be  refused.  That 
no  especial  delicacy  kept  these  things  secret,  that 
women  talked  of  them  freely — ay,  triumphantly 
— that  they  made  the  staple  of  conversation  at 
afternoon  tea  and  the  club,  with  all  the  flippant 
comments  that  dear  friends  know  how  to  con- 
tribute as  to  your  vanity  and  presumption,  he 
was  well  aware.  Indeed,  he  had  been  long  an 
eloquent  contributor  to  that  scandal  literature 
which  amuses  the  leisure  of  fashion,  and  helps  on 
the  tedium  of  an  ordinary  dinner.  How  Lady 
Maude  would  report  the  late  scene  in  the  garden 
to  the  Countess  of  Mecherscroft,  who  would  tell 
it  to  her  company  at  her  cbuntry  house!  How 
the  Lady  Georginas  would  discuss  it  over  lunch- 
eon, and  the  Lord  Georges  talk  of  it  out  shoot- 
ing !  What  a  host  of  pleasant  anecdotes  would  be 
told  of  his  inordinate  puppyism  and  self-esteem! 
How  even  the  dullest  fellows  would  dare  to  throw 
a  stone  at  him !  What  a  target  for  a  while  he 
woidd  be  for  every  marksman  at  any  range  to 
shoot  at!  All  these  his  quick-witted  ingenuity 
pictured  at  once  before  him. 

"  I  see  it  all,"  cried  he,  as  he  paced  his  room 
in  self-examination.  "  I  have  suffered  myself 
to  be  carried  away  by  a  burst  of  momentary  im- 
pulse. I  brought  up  all  my  reserves,  and  have 
failed  utterly.  Nothing  can  save  me  now  but 
a  'change  of  front.'  It  is  the  last  bit  of  gener- 
alship remaining — a  change  of  front — a  change 
of  front!"  And  he  repeated  the  words  over  and 
over,  as  though  hoping  they  might  light  up  his 
ingenuity.  "I  might  go  and  tell  her  that  all  I 
had  been  saying  was  mere  jest ;  that  I  could 
never  have  dreamed  of  asking  her  to  follow  me 
into  barbarism ;  that  to  go  to  Guatemala  was 
equivalent  to  accepting  a  yellow  fever — it  was 
courting  disease,  perhaps  death  ;  that  my  insist- 
ence was  a  mere  mockery,  in  the  worst  possible 
taste ;  but  that  I  had  already  agreed  with  Lord 
Danesbury  our  engagement  should  be  canceled, 


that  his  lordship's  memory  of  our  conversation 
would  corroborate  me  in  saying  I  had  no  inten- 
tion to  propose  such  a  sacrifice  to  her;  and  in- 
deed I  had  but  provoked  her  to  say  the  very 
things  and  use  the  very  arguments  I  had  al- 
ready employed  to  myself  as  a  sort  of  aid  to  my 
own  heart-felt  convictions.  Here  would  be  a 
'  change  of  front'  with  a  vengeance. 

"!She  will  already  have  written  off  the  whole 
interview:  the  dispatch  is  finished,"  cried  he, 
after  a  moment.  "  It  is  a  change  of  front  the 
day  after  the  battle.  The  people  will  read  of 
my  manoeuvre  with  the  bulletin  of  victory  before 
them. 

"Poor  Frank  Touch et  used  to  say," cried  he, 
aloud,  " '  Whenever  they  refuse  my  checks  at  the 
bank,  I  always  transfer  my  account;'  and  fortu- 
nately the  world  is  big  enough  for  these  tactics 
!  for  several  years.  That's  a  change  of  front  too, 
I  if  I  knew  how  to  adapt  it.  I  must  marry  an- 
!  other  woman — there's  nothing  else  for  it.  It  is 
i  the  only  escape ;  and  the  question  is,  who  shall 
I  she  be?"  The  more  he  meditated  over  this 
'  change  of  front,  the  more  he  saw  that  his  destiny 
pointed  to  the  Greek.  If  he  could  see  clearly 
before  him  to  a  high  career  in  diplomacy,  the 
{  Greek  girl,  in  every  thing  but  fortune,  would  suit 
j  him  well.  Her  marvelous  beauty,  her  grace  of 
manner,  her  social  tact  and  readiness,  her  skill 
in  languages,  were  all  the  very  qualities  most  in 
1  request.  Such  a  woman  would  make  the  full 
|  complement,  by  her  fascinations,  of  all  that  her 
\  husband  could  accomplish  by  his  abilities.  The 
;  little  indiscretions  of  old  men — especially  old 
men— with  these  women,  the  lapses  of  confidence 
\  they  made  them,  the  dropping  admissions  of 
'  this  or  that  intention,  made  up  what  Walpole 
knew  to  be  high  diplomacy. 

' '  Nothing  worth  hearing  is  ever  got  by  a  man," 
was  an  adage  he  treasured  as  deep  wisdom.  Why 
kings  resort  to  that  watering-place,  and  accident- 
ally meet  certain  ministers  going  somewhere 
else ;  why  kaisers  affect  to  review  troops  here, 
that  they  may  be  able  to  talk  statecraft  there; 
j  how  princely  compacts  and  contracts  of  marriage 
are  made  at  sulphur  springs  :  all  these  and  such 
like  leaked  out  as  small-talk  with  a  young  and 
pretty  woman,  whose  frivolity  of  manner  went 
.  bail  for  the  safety  of  the  confidence,  and  went 
far  to  persuade  Walpole  that  though  bank  stock 
might  be  a  surer  investment,  there  were  paying 
qualities  in  certain  women  that  in  the  end  prom- 
ised larger  returns  than  mere  money,  and  higher 
,  rewards  than  mere  wealth.  "  Yes,"  cried  he  to 
himself,  "this  is  the  real  change  of  front — this 
has  all  in  its  favor." 

'  Nor  yet  all.  Strong  as  Walpole 's  self-esteem 
!  was,  and  high  his  estimate  of  his  own  capacity, 
he  had — he  could  not  conceal  it — a  certain  mis- 
giving as  to  whether  he  really  understood  that 
girl  or  not.  "  I  have  watched  many  a  bolt  from 
her  bow,"  said  he,  "and  I  think  1  know  their 
range.  But  now  and  then  she  has  shot  an  arrow 
into  the  clear  sky,  and  far  beyond  my  sight  to 
follow  it. " 

That  scene  in  the  wood,  too.  Absurd  enough 
that  it  should  obtrude  itself  at  such  a  moment — 
but  it  was  the  sort  of  indication  that  meant  much 
more  to  a  man  like  Walpole  than  to  men  of  other 
experiences.  Was  she  flirting  witli  this  young 
Austrian  soldier?  No  great  harm  if  she  were; 
but  still  there  had  been  passages  between  himself 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


1 :.. 


and  her  which  should  have  hound  her  over  to 
more  circumspection.     \V:is  there  not  a  shadowy 

sort  of  engagement  between  them?  Lawyers 
deem  a  mere  promise  to  grant  a  lease  as  equiv- 
alent to  a  contract  It  would  be  a  curious  ques- 
tion in  morals  to  inquire  how  tar  the  licensed 
perjuries  of  courtship  are  statutory  offenses. 
Perhaps  a  sly  consciousness  on  his  own  part  that 
he  was  not  playing  perfectly  fair  made  him,  as 
it  might  do,  more  than  usually  tenacious  thai  Ids 
adversary  should  hi-  honest  What  chance  the 
innocent  public  would  have  with  two  people  who 
were  so  adroit  with  each  other,  was  his  next 
thought :  and  he  actually  laughed  aloud  as  it  oc- 
curred to  him.  "  I  only  wish  my  had  would 
invite  us  here  before  we  sail.  If  I  could  hut 
show  her  to  Maude,  half  an  hour  of  these  women 
together  would  he  the  heaviest  vengeance  I  could 
ask  her!  I  wonder  how  could  that  he  man- 
aged ?" 

"A  dispatch,  Sir,  his  lordship  begs  you  to 
read,"  said  a  servant,  entering.  It  was  an  open 
envelope,  and  contained  these  words  on  a  slip 
of  paper : 

'•  W.  shall  have  Guatemala.  He  must  go  out 
by  the  mail  of  November  15.  Send  him  here 
for  instructions."  Some  words  in  cipher  follow- 
ed, and  an  under-secretary's  initials. 

••Now,  then,  for  the  'change  of  front.'  I'll 
write  to  Nina  by  this  post.  I'll  ask  my  lord  to 
let  me  tear  off  this  portion  of  the  telegram,  and 
I  shall  inclose  it." 

The  letter  was  not  so  easily  written  as  he 
thought — at  least  he  made  more  than  one  draft, 
and  was  at  last  in  great  doubt  whether  a  long 
statement  or  a  few  and  very  decided  lines  might 
be  better.  How  be  ultimately  determined,  and 
what  he  said,  can  not  be  given  here :  for,  unhap- 
pily, the  conditions  of  my  narrative  require  I 
should  ask  my  reader  to  accompany  me  to  a 
very  distant  spot  and  other  interests,  which  were 
then  occupying  the  attention  of  an  almost  for- 
gotten acquaintance  of  ours,  the  redoubtable 
Joseph  Atlee. 


CHAPTER  LXIL 

WITH   A   PASHA. 

JoSEPrt  Atlee  bad  a  very  busy  morning  of  it 
on  a  certain  November  day  at  i'era,  when  the 
post  brought  him  tidings  that  Lord  Danesbury 
had  resigned  the  Irish  Viceroyalty,  and  been 
once  more  named  to  his  old  post  as  embassador 
at  Constantinople. 

••  My  uncle  desires  me,"  wrote  Lady  Maude, 
"to  impress  you  with  the  now  all-important 
necessity  of  obtaining  the  papers  you  know  of, 
and,  mi  fir  as  you  are  able,  to  secure  that  no 
authorized  copies  Of  them  arc  extant.  Kulbash 
Pasha  will,  my  lord  says,  be  very  tractable  when 
once  assured  that  our  return  to  Turkey  is  a  cer- 
tainty :  but  should  you  detect  signs  of  hesitation 
or  distrust  in  the  Grand  Vizier's  conduct,  you 
will  hint  that  the  investigation  as  to  the  issue  of 
the  Galata  shares — 'preference  shares' — may  be 
reopened  at  any  moment,  and  thai  the  Ottoman 
Hank  agent.  Schiiffer,  has  drawn  up  a  memoir 
which  my  uncle  now  hold-.  I  COpy  my  lord's 
words  for  all  this,  and  sincerely  hope  you  will 
understand  it.  which,  I  confess,  /  do  not  at  all. 
My  lord  cautioned  me  not  to  occupy  your  time 


OT  attention  by  any  reference  to  Irish  questions, 
but  leave  you  perfectly  free  to  deal  with  thOK 
larger  interests  of  the  Bast  that  should  now  en- 
gage you.     1  forbear,  therefore,  to  do  more  than 

mark  with  a  pencil  the  part  in  the  debate-  which 

might  interest  you  especially,  and  merely  add 

the  fact.  Otherwise,  perhaps,  not  very  credible, 
that  Mr.  Walpole  did  write  the  famous  letter  im- 
puted to  him,  did  promise  tin-  amnesty,  or  what- 
ever be  the  name  of  it,  and  did  pledge  the  honor 
of  the  Government  to  a  transaction  with  these 
Fenian  leaders.  With  what  success  to  his  own 
prospects,  the  Gazette  will  speak  that  announces 
his  appointment  to  Guatemala. 

"  I  am  myself  very  far  from  sorry  at  our  change 
of  destination.  I  prefer  the  Bosphorns  to  the 
Hay  of  Dublin,  and  like  l'era  better  than  the 
Phoenix.  It  is  not  alone  that  the  interests  are 
greater,  the  questions  larger,  and  the  conse- 
quences more  important  to  the  world  at  large, 
but  that,  as  my  uncle  has  just  said,  you  are  spat  ed 
the  peddling  impertinence  of  Parliament  inter- 
fering at  every  moment  and  questioning  your 
conduct,  from  an  invitation  to  Cardinal  Cullen 
to  the  dismissal  of  a  chief  constable.  Happily, 
the  gentlemen  at  Westminster  know  nothing 
about  Turkey,  and  have  the  prudence  not  to  ven- 
tilate their  ignorance,  except  in  secret  commit- 
tee. I  am  sorry  to  have  to  tell  you  that  my  lord 
sees  great  difficulty  in  what  you  propose  as  to 
yourself.  F.O.,  he  says,  would  not  easily  consent 
"to  your  being  named  even  a  third  secretary  with- 
out your  going  through  the  established  grade  of 
attache.  All  the  unquestionable  merits  he  knows 
you  to  possess  would  count  for  nothing  against 
an  official  regulation.  The  course  my  lord  would 
suggest  is  this :  to  enter  now  as  a  mere  attache', 
to  continue  in  this  position  some  three  or  four 
months,  come  over  here  for  the  general  election 
in  February,  get  into  'the  Bouse,'  and  after 
some  few  sessions,  one  or  two,  rejoin  diplomacy, 
to  which  you  might  be  appointed  as  a  secretary 
of  legation.  My  uncle  named  to  me  three,  if  not 
four,  cases  of  this  kind — one,  indeed,  stepped  at 
once  into  a  mission,  and  became  a  minister; 
and  though,  of  course,  the  opposition  made  a 
fuss,  they  failed  in  their  attempt  to  break  the 
appointment  and  the  man  will  probably  be  soon 
an  embassador.  I  accept  the  little  yataghan, 
but  sincerely  wish  the  present  had  been  of  less 
value.  There  is  one  enormous  emerald  in  the 
handle  which  I  am  much  tempted  to  trans- 
fer to  a  ring.  Perhaps  1  ought,  in  decency, 
to  have  your  permission  for  the  change.  The 
burnous  is  very  beautiful,  but  I  could  not  accepl 
it — an  article  of  dress  is  in  the  category  of  things 
impossible.  Have  you  no  Irish  sisters,  or  even 
cousins  ?  Pray  give  me  a  destination  to  address 
it  to  in  your  next. 

'•  My  uncle  doires  me  to  say  that,  all  invalu- 
able  as  youi    services   have   become   where   you 

i  are,  be  needs  you  greatly  here,  and  would  hear 
with  pleasure  that  you  were  about  to  return. 
He  is  curious  to  know  who  wrote  'L'Orient  el 
Lord  I).'  in  the  last  Revue  <l>  Deux  Mondes, 
The  savagery  of  the  attack  implies  a  personal 

!  rancor.  Kind  out  the  author,  and  replj  t"  him 
in  the  Edinburgh.  My  lord  Bnspects  he  may 
have  had  access  to  the  papers  he  has  already 

alluded  to,  and  is  the  more  eager  to  rep 
j  them." 

A  telegraphic  dispatch  in  cipher  was  put  into 


15G 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


his  hand  as  he  was  reading.  It  was  from  Lord 
Danesbury,  and  said:  "Comeback  as  soon  as 
you  can,  but  not  before  making  K.  Pasha  know- 
bis  fate  is  in  my  hands." 

As  the  Grand  Vizier  had  already  learned  from 
the  Ottoman  embassador  at  London  the  news 
that  Lord  Danesbury  was  about  to  resume  his 
former  post  at  Constantinople,  his  Turkish  im- 
passiveness  was  in  no  way  imperiled  by  Atlee's 
abrupt  announcement.  It  is  true,  he  would  have 
been  pleased  had  the  English  Government  sent 
out  some  one  new  to  the  East  and  a  stranger  to 
all  Oriental  questions.  He  would  have  liked  one 
of  those  veterans  of  diplomacy  versed  in  the  old- 
fashioned  ways  and  knaveries  of  German  courts, 
and  whose  shrewdest  ideas  of  a  subtle  policy  are 
centred  in  a  few  social  spies  and  a  "Cabinet 
Noir."  The  Pasha  had  no  desire  to  see  there  a 
man  who  knew  all  the  secret  machinery  of  a 
Turkish  administration,  what  corruption  could 
do,  and  where  to  look  for  the  men  who  could 
employ  it. 

The  thing  was  done,  however,  and  with  that 
philosophy  of  resignation  to  a  fact  in  which  no 
nation  can  rival  his  own,  he  muttered  his  polite 
congratulations  on  the  event,  and  declared  that 
the  dearest  wish  of  his  heart  was  now  accom- 
plished. 

"We  had  half  begun  to  believe  you  had 
abandoned  us,  Mr.  Atlee,"  said  he.  "When 
England  commits  her  interests  to  inferior  men, 
she  usually  means  to  imply  that  they  are  worth 
nothing  better.  I  am  rejoiced  to  see  that  we  are 
at  last  awakened  from  this  delusion.  With  his 
Excellency  Lord  Danesbury  here,  we  shall  be 
soon  once  more  where  we  have  been." 

' '  Your  fleet  is  in  effective  condition,  well 
armed,  and  well  disciplined  ?" 

"  All,  all,"  smiled  the  Pasha. 

"The  army  reformed,  the  artillery  supplied 
with  the  most  efficient  guns,  and  officers  of  Eu- 
ropean services  encouraged  to  join  your  staff?" 

"All." 

"Wise  economies  in  your  financial  matters, 
close  supervision  in  the  collection  of  the  revenue, 
and  searching  inquiries  where  abuses  exist?" 

"All." 

"Especial  care  that  the  administration  of 
justice  should  be  beyond  even  the  malevolence 
of  distrust,  that  men  of  station  and  influence 
should  be  clear-handed  and  honorable,  not  a 
taint  of  unfairness  to  attach  to  them?" 

"Be  it  all  so,"  ejaculated  the  Pasha,  blandly. 

"  By-the-way,  I  am  reminded  by  a  line  I  have 
just  received  from  Ids  Excellency  with  reference 
to  Sulina,  or  was  it  Galatz  ?" 

The  Pasha  could  not  decide,  and  he  went  on  : 

"I  remember:  it  is  Galatz.  There  is  some 
curious  question  there  of  a  concession  for  a  line 
of  railroad,  which  a  Servian  commissioner  had 
the  skill  to  obtain  from  the  cabinet  here  by  a 
sort  of  influence  which  our  (Stock  Exchange 
people  in  London  scarcely  regard  as  regular.  " 

The  Pasha  nodded  to  imply  attention,  and 
smoked  on  as  before. 

"  But  I  weary  your  Excellency,"  said  Atlee, 
rising,  "and  my  real  business  here  is  accom- 
plished. " 

"Tell  my  lord  that  I  await  his  arrival  with 
impatience;  that  of  all  pending  questions  none 
shall  receive  solution  till  he  comes  ;  that  I  am  the 
very  least  of  his  servants."     And  with  an  air  of 


most  dignified  sincerity  he  bowed  him  out,  and 
Atlee  hastened  away  to  tell  his  chief  that  he  had 
"  squared  the  Turk,"  and  would  sail  on  the  mor- 
row. 


CHAPTER  LXIIL 

ATLEE    ON    HIS    TRAVELS. 

0\  board  the  Austrian  Lloyd's  steamer  in 
which  he  sailed  from  Constantinople  Joseph 
Atlee  employed  himself  in  the  composition  of  a 
small  volume  purporting  to  be  the  "  Experiences 
of  a  Two  Years'  Residence  in  Greece."  In  an 
opening  chapter  of  this  work  he  had  modestly 
intimated  to  the  reader  how  an  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  the  language  and  literature  of 
modern  Greece,  great  opportunities  of  mixing 
with  every  class  and  condition  of  the  people,  a 
mind  well  stored  with  classical  acquirements  and 
thoroughly  versed  in  antiquarian  lore,  a  strong 
poetic  temperament,  and  the  feeling  of  an  artist 
for  scenery,  had  all  combined  to  give  him  a  cer- 
tain fitness  for  his  task  ;  and  by  the  extracts  from 
his  diary  it  would  be  seen  on  what  terms  of  free- 
dom he  conversed  with  ministers  and  embassa- 
dors, even  with  royalty  itself. 

A  most  pitiless  chapter  was  devoted  to  the  ex- 
posure of  the  mistakes  and  misrepresentations  of 
a  late  Quarterly  article  called  "Greece  and  her 
Protectors,"  whose  statements  were  the  more 
mercilessly  handled  and  ridiculed  that  the  paper 
in  question  had  been  written  by  himself,  and  the 
sarcastic  allusions  to  the  sources  of  the  informa- 
tion not  the  less  pungent  on  that  account. 

That  the  writer  had  been  admitted  to  frequent 
audiences  of  the  King;  that  he  had  discussed  with 
his  Majesty  the  cutting  of  the  Isthmus  of  Corinth ; 
that  the  King  had  seriously  confided  to  him  his 
belief  that,  in  the  event  of  his  abdication,  the 
Ionian  Islands  must  revert  to  him  as  a  personal 
appanage,  the  terms  on  which  they  were  annexed 
to  Greece  being  decided  by  lawyers  to  bear  this 
interpretation — all  these  Atlee  denied  of  his  own 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


167 


knowledge,  ami  asked  the  reader  to  follow  him 
into  the  royal  cabinet  for  bis  reasons.  When, 
fore,  he  heard  that,  from  Borne  damage  to  the 
machinery,  the  vessel  musi  be  detained  Bomedays 
at  Syra  to  refit,  Atlee  was  Bcarcely  Borry  that  ne- 
cessity gave  him  an  opportunity  to  visit  Alliens. 
A  little  abont  Ulysses  and  a  good  ileal  about 
Lord  Byron,  a  smattering  of  Grote  ami  a  more 
perfect  memory  of  About,  were,  as  he  owned  to 
himself,  all  his  Greece;  hut  he  could  answer  for 
w  hat  three  days  in  the  country  would  do  lor  him. 
particularly  with  that  spirit  of  candid  inquiry  he 
could  now  bring  to  his  task,  and  the  genuine  fair- 
ness with  which  lie  desired  to  judge  the  people. 

••The  two  years'  resident  in  Athens  must 
doubtless  often  have  dined  with  his  minister;  and 
BQ  Atlee  sent  his  card  to  the  Legation. 

Mr.  Brammell,  our  "present  minister  at  Ath- 
ens," as  the  Times  continued  to  designate  him, 
as  though  to  imply  that  the  appointment  might 
not  be  permanent,  was  an  excellent  man,  of  that 
stamp  of  which  diplomacy  has  more — who  con- 
sider  that  the  court  to  which  thev  are  accredited 
concentrates  for  the  time  the  political  interests 
of  the  globe.  That  any  one  in  Europe  thought, 
read,  spoke,  or  listened  to  nny  thing  but  what 
was  then  happening  in  Greece,  Mr.  Brammell 
could  not  believe.  That  France  or  Prussia, 
Spain  or  Italy,  could  divide  attention  with  this 
small  kingdom — that  the  great  political  minds 
of  the  Continent  were  not  more  eager  to  know 
what  Comoundouros  thought  and  Bulgaria  re- 
quired than  all  about  Bismarck  and  Gortschakoll' 
— he  could  not  be  brought  to  conceive ;  and  in 
consequence  of  these  convictions  he  was  an  ad- 
mirable minister,  and  fully  represented  all  the 
interests  of  his  country. 

A-  that  admirable  public  instructor,  the  Levant. 
II<  raid,  had  frequently  mentioned  Atlee's  name, 
now  as  the  guest  of  Kulbash  Pasha,  now  as  hav- 
ing attended  some  public  ceremony  with  other 
persons  of  importance,  and  once  as  "'our  distin- 
guished countryman,  whose  wise  suggestions  and 
acute  observations  have  been  duly  accepted  by 
the  imperial  cabinet,"  Brammell  at  once  knew 
that  this  distinguished  countryman  should  be  en- 
tertained at  dinner,  and  he  sent  him  an  invitation. 
That  habit — so  popular  of  late  years — to  send 
Out  some  man  from  England  to  do  something  at 
a  foreign  court  that  the  British  embassador  or 
minister  there  either  has  not  done  or  can  not 
do,  possibly  ought  never  to  do,  had  invested  At- 
lee in  Brammell's  eyes  with  the  character  of  one 
of  those  semi-accredited  inscrutable  people  whose 
function  it  would  seem  to  be  to  make  us  out  the 
most  meddlesome  people  in  Europe. 

( )f  course  Brammell  was  not  pleased  to  see  him 
at  Athens,  and  he  ran  over  all  the  possible  con- 
tingencies he  might  have  come  for.  it  might  be 
the  old  Greek  loan  which  was  to  be  raked  up 
again  as  a  new  grievance.  It  might  be  the  pen- 
sions that  they  woidd  not  pay,  or  the  brigands 
that  they  would  not  catch — pretty  much  for  the 
same  reasons— that  they  could  not.  It  might  be 
that  they  wanted  to  hear  what  T-ousichetl'.  the 
new  Bobs ian  minister,  was  doing,  and  whether 
the  farce  of  the  "Grand  Idea"  was  advertised 
for  repetition.  It  might  be  Crete  was  on  the  tn- 
jiis,  or  it  might  be  the  question  of  the  Greek  en- 
voy to  the  Porte  that  the  Sultan  refused  to  re- 
ceive, and  which  promised  to  turn  out  a  very 
pretty  quarrel  if  only  adroitly  treated. 


The  more  Brammell  thought  of  it.  the  more 

he  felt  assured  this  most  lie  the  reason  of  Alice'.-. 
visit,  and  the  more  indignant  he  grew  that  extra- 

official  means  should  be  employed  to  investigate 

what  he  had  written  seventeen  dispatches  to  ex- 
plain— seventeen  dispatches,  with  nine  "inclos- 
ures,"  and  a  "private  and  confidential,"  about 
to  appear  in  a  blue-book. 

To  make  the  dinner  as  confidential  as  might 
be,  the  only  guests  besides  Atlee  were  a  couple 
of  yachting  Englishmen,  a  German  Professor  of 
Archaeology,  and  the  American  minister,  who, 
of  course  speaking  no  language  but  his  own, 

could  always  be  escaped  from  by  a  digression  into 
French,  German,  or  Italian. 

Atlee  felt,  as  he  entered  the  drawing-room, 
that  the  company  was  what  he  irreverently  called 

afterward  a  scratch  team,  and  with  an  almost 
equal  quickness  he  saw  that  lie  himself  was  the 
"personage"  of  the  entertainment,  the  "man  of 
mark"  of  the  party. 

The  same  tact  which  enabled  him  to  perceive 
all  this  made  him  especially  guarded  in  all  he 
said,  so  that  his  host's  efforts  to  unveil  his  inten- 
tions and  learn  what  lie  had  come  for  were  com- 
plete failures.  "Greece  was  a  charming  coun- 
try.— Greece  was  the  parent  of  any  civilization 
we  boasted. — She  gave  us  those  ideas  of  archi- 
tecture with  which  we  raised  that  glorious  temple 
at  Kensington,  and  that  taste  for  sculpture  which 
we  exhibited  near  Apsley  House. — Aristophanes 
gave  us  our  comic  drama,  and  only  the  defaults 
of  ourlanguage  made  it  difficult  to  show  why  the 
member  for  Cork  did  not  more  often  recall  De- 
mosthenes." 

As  for  insolvency,  it  was  a  very  gentleman-like 
failing;  while  brigandage  was  only  what  She'd 
used  to  euphemize  as  "the  wild  justice"  of  noble 
spirits,  too  impatient  for  the  sluggard  steps  of 
slow  redress,  and  too  proud  not  to  be  self-re- 
liant. 

Thus  excusing  and  extenuating  wherein  he 
could  not  flatter,  Atlee  talked  on  the  entire  even- 
ing, till  he  sent  the  two  Englishmen  home  heart- 
ily sick  of  a  bombastic  eulogy  on  the  land  where 
a  pilot  had  run  their  cutter  on  a  rock,  and  a  rev- 
enue officer  had  seized  all  their  tobacco.  The 
German  had  retired  early,  and  the  Yankee  hast- 
ened to  his  lodgings  to  "jot  down"  all  the  fine 
things  he  could  commit  to  his  next  dispatch 
home,  and  overwhelm  Mr.  Seward  with  an  array 
of  historic  celebrities  such  as  had  never  been  seen 
at  Washington. 

"They're  gone  at  last,"  said  the  minister. 
"Let  us  have  our  cigar  on  the  terrace." 

The  unbounded  frankness,  the  unlimited  trust- 
fulness, that  now  ensued  between  these  two  nun 
was  charming.  Brammel]  represented  one  hard 
worked  and  sorely  tried  in  his  country's  service; 
the  perfect  slave  of  office,  spending  nights  long  at 
his  desk,  but  not  appreciated,  not  valued,  at  I  mi  no. 
It  was  delightful,  therefore,  to  him  to  find  a  man 
like  Atlee  to  whom  he  could  tell  this  could  tell 
for  what  an   ungrateful  country  he  toiled,  what 

ignorance  he  sought  to  enlighten,  what  actual 

stupidity  he  had  to  counteract.       Me  spoke  of  the 
OfHc< — from   his   tone   of  horror  it    might   have 

been  the  Holy  Office— with  a  sort  of  tremulous 

terror  and  aversion  :  tic  absurd  instructions  they 
sent  him.  the  impossible  things  he  was  to  do,  the 

inconceivable  lines  of  policy  be  was  to  insist  on  : 

how  but  for  him  the  King  would  abdicate,  and  a 


158 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


Russian  protectorate  be  proclaimed  ;  how  the  !  whole  intrigue.  I  wrote  home  how  Tsousicheff 
revolt  at  Athens  would  be  proclaimed  in  Tltessa-  [  was  nursing  this  new  quarrel.  I  told  our  peo- 
ly;  how  Skulkekoff,  the  Russian  general,  was  j  pie  facts  of  the  Muscovite  policy  that  they  never 
waiting  to  move  into  the  provinces  "at  the  first  j  got  a  hint  of  from  their  embassador  at  St.  Peters- 
check  my  policy  shall  receive  here,"  cried  he.    burg." 

''I  shall  show  you  on  this  map;  and  here  are  i  "It  was  rare  luck  that  we  had  you  here  :  good- 
the  names,  armament,  and  tonnage,  of  a  hundred  j  night,  good-night,"  said  Atlee,  as  he  buttoned  his 
and  ninety-four  gun-boats  now  ready  at  Nicholief    coat. 


to  move  down  on  Constantinople." 

Was  it  not  strange,  was  it  not  worse  than 
strange,  after  such  a  show  of  unbounded  confi- 
dence as  this,  Atlee  would  reveal  nothing? 
Whatever  his  grievances  against  the  people  he 
served — and  who  is  without  them? — he  would 
say  nothing,  he  had  no  complaint  to  make. 
Things  he  admitted  were  bad,  but  they  might  be 
worse.  The  monarchy  existed  still,  and  the 
House  of  Lords  was,  for  a  while  at  least,  tolerated. 
Ireland  was  disturbed,  but  not  in  open  rebellion  ; 
and  if  we  had  no  army  to  speak  of,  we  still  had 
a  navy,  and  even  the  present  Admiralty  only  lost 
about  five  ships  a  year! 

Till  long  after  midnight  did  they  fence  with 
each  other,  with  buttons  on  their  foils — very 
harmlessly,  no  doubt,  but  very  uselessly  too : 
Braminell  could  make  nothing  of  a  man  who  nei- 
ther wanted  to  hear  about  finance  nor  taxation, 
court  scandal,  schools,  nor  public  robbery  ;  and 
though  he  could  not  in  so  many  words  ask,  What 
have  you  come  for?  why  are  you  here?  he  said 
this  in  full  fifty  different  ways  for  three  hours 
and  more. 

"You  make  some  stay  among  us,  I  trust?" 
said  the  minister,  as  his  guest  rose  to  take  leave. 
"You  mean  to  see  something  of  this  interesting 
country  before  you  leave?" 

"  I  fear  not ;  when  the  repairs  to  the  steamer 
enable  her  to  put  to  sea,  they  are  to  let  me  know 
by  telegraph,  and  I  shall  join  her." 

"  Are  you  so  pressed  for  time  that  you  can  not 
spare  us  a  week  or  two?" 

"Totally  impossible!  Parliament  will  sit  in 
January  next,  and  I  must  hasten  home." 

This  was  to  imply  that  he  was  in  the  House, 
or  that  he  expected  to  be,  or  that  he  ought  to  be, 
and,  even  if  he  were  not,  that  his  presence  in  En- 
gland was  all-essential  to  somebody  who  was  in 
Parliament,  and  for  whom  his  information,  his 
explanation,  his  accusation,  or  any  thing  else, 
was  all  needed,  and  so  Brammell  read  it  and 
bowed  accordingly. 

"  By-the-way,"  said  the  minister,  as  the  other 
was  leaving  the  room,  and  with  that  sudden 
abruptness  of  a  wayward  thought,  "  we  have  been 
talking  of  all  sorts  of  things  and  people,  but  not 
a  word  about  what  we  are  so  full  of  here.  How 
is  this  difficulty  about  the  new  Greek  envoy  to 
the  Porte  to  end  ?  You  know,  of  course,  the  Sul- 
tan refuses  to  receive  him?" 

"The  Pasha  told  me  something  of  it,  but  I 
confess  to  have  paid  little  attention.  I  treated 
the  matter  as  insignificant." 

"Insignificant!  You  can  not  mean  that  an 
affront  so  openly  administered  as  this,  the  great- 
est national  offense  that  could  be  offered,  is  in- 
significant?" and  then,  with  a  volubility  that 
smacked  very  little  of  want  of  preparation,  he  ran 
over  how  the  idea  of  sending  a  particular  man, 
long  compromised  by  his  complicity  in  the  Cre- 
tan revolt,  to  Constantinople,  came  from  Russia, 
and  that  the  opposition  of  the  Porte  to  accept  him 
was  also  Russian.     "I  got  to  the  bottom  of  the  | 


"More  than  that,  I  said,  ' If  the  cabinet  here 
persist  in  sending  Kostalergi — '  " 

"Whom  did  you  say?  What  name  was  it 
you  said?" 

"  Kostalergi — the  Prince.  As  much  a  prince 
as  you  are.  First  of  all,  they  have  no  better; 
and  secondly,  this  is  the  most  consummate  ad- 
venturer in  the  East." 

"I  should  like  to  know  him.  Is  he  here — at 
Athens?" 

"Of  course  he  is.  He  is  waiting  till  he  hears 
the  Sultan  will  receive  him." 

"I  should  like  to  know  him,"  said  Atlee,  more 
seriously. 

"  Nothing  easier.  He  comes  here  every  day. 
Will  you  meet  him  at  dinner  to-morrow  ?" 

"  Delighted !  but  then  I  should  like  a  little 
conversation  with  him  in  the  morning.  Perhaps 
you  would  kindly  make  me  known  to  him?" 

"With  sincere  pleasure.  I'll  write  and  ask 
him  to  dine — and  I'll  say  that  you  will  wait  on 
him.  I'll  say,  '  My  distinguished  friend  Mr.  At- 
lee, of  whom  you  have  heard,  will  wait  on  you 
about  eleven  or  twelve.'     Will  that  do?"'  , 

"  Perfectly.  So  then  I  may  make  my  visit  on 
the  presumption  of  being  expected  ?" 

"  Certainly.  Not  that  Kostalergi  wants  much 
preparation.  He  plays  baccara  all  night,  but  he 
is  at  his  desk  at  six." 

"Is  he  rich?" 

"  Hasn't  a  sixpence — but  plays  all  the  same. 
And,  what  people  are  more  surprised  at,  pays 
when  he  loses.  If  I  had  not  already  passed  an 
evening  in  your  company,  I  should  be  bold  enough 
to  hint  to  you  the  need  of  caution — great  caution 
— in  talking  with  him." 

"  I  know — I  am  aware,"  said  Atlee,  with  a 
meaning  smile. 

"You  will  not  be  misled  by  his  cunning,  Mr. 
Atlee,  but  beware  of  his  candor." 

"I  will  be  on  my  guard.  Many  thanks  for 
the  caution.  Good-night! — once  more,  good- 
night!" 


CHAPTER  LXIV. 

GREEK    MEETS   GREEK. 

So  excited  did  Atlee  feel  about  meeting  the 
father  of  Nina  Kostalergi — of  whose  strange  do- 
ings and  adventurous  life  he  had  heard  much — 
that  he  scarcely  slept  the  entire  night.  It  puz- 
zled him  greatly  to  determine  in  what  character 
he  should  present  himself  to  this  crafty  Greek. 
Political  amateurship  was  now  so  popular  in  En- 
gland that  he  might  easily  enough  pass  off  for 
one  of  those  "  Bulls"  desirous  to  make  himself 
up  on  the  Greek  question.  This  was  a  part  that 
offered  no  difficulty.  "Give  me  five  minutes  of 
any  man — a  little  longer  with  a  woman — and  I'll 
know  where  his  sympathies  incline  to."  This 
was  a  constant  boast  of  his,  and  not  altogether  a 
vain  one.  He  might  be  an  archaeological  trav- 
eler, eager  about  new-discovered  relics  and  curi- 


LORD   KlL<iU15l!IN. 


159 


ons  about  rained  temples.  He  might  be  a  yacht- 
ing man,  who  only  cared  tor  Salamis  ;i<  good  an- 
chorage, in>r  thought  of  the  Acropolis  except  as 
a  point  of  departure  :  or  he  might  Ik-  one  of  those 
myriads  who  travel  without  knowing  when-  or 
earing  why;   airing  their  amm  now  at  Thebes, 

now  at  Trolhatien:  a  weariful,  dispirited  rare,  who 
rarely  look  so  thoroughly  alive  as  when  choosing 
a  cigar  or  changing  their  money.  There  was  no 
reason  why  the  "distinguished  Mr.  At  lee"  might 
not  be  one  of  these — he  was  accredited,  too,  by 
his  minister,  and  his  "solidarity,"  as  the  French 
call  it.  was  beyond  question. 

While  yet  revolving  these  points,  a  cavass — 
With  much  gold  in  his  jacket,  and  a  voluminous 
petticoat  of  white  calico— came  to  inform  him 
that  his  Excellency  the  Prince  hoped  to  see  him 
at  breakfast  at  eleven  o'clock;  and  it  now  only 
wanted  a  tew  minutes  of  that  hour.  Atlee  de- 
tained the  messenger  to  show  him  the  road,  and 
at  last  set  out. 

Traversing  one  dreary,  ill-built  street  after  an- 
other, they  arrived  at  last  at  what  seemed  a  little 
lane,  the  entrance  to  which  carriages  were  denied 
by  a  line  of  stone  posts,  at  the  extremity  of  which 
a  small  green  gate  appeared  in  a  wall.  Pushing 
this  wide  open,  the  eavass  stood  respectfully 
while  Atlee  passed  in.  and  found  himself  in  what, 
for  Greece,  was  a  garden.  There  were  two  fine 
palm-trees,  and  a  small  scrub  of  oleanders  and 
dwarf  cedars  that  grew  around  a  little  fish-pond, 
where  a  small  Triton  in  the  middle,  with  distend- 
ed, ehceks,  should  have  poured  forth  a  refreshing 
jet  of  water,  but  his  lips  were  dry,  and  his  conch- 
shell  empty,  and  the  muddy  tank  at  his  feet  a 
mere  surface  of  broad  water-lilies  convulsively 
shaken  by  bull-frogs.  A  short  shady  path  led  to 
the  house — a  two-storied  edifice,  with  the  external 
stair  of  wood,  that  seemed  to  crawl  round  it  on 
every  side. 

In  a  good-sized  room  of  the  ground-floor  At- 
lee found  the  Prince  awaiting  him.  He  was 
confined  to  a  sofa  by  a  slight  sprain,  lie  called  it, 
and  apologized  for  his  not  being  able  to  rise. 

The  Prince,  though  advanced  in  years,  was  still 
handsome  ;  his  features  had  all  the  splendid  reg- 
ularity of  their  Greek  origin;  but  in  the  enor- 
mous orbits,  of  which  the  tint  was  nearly  black, 
and  the  indented  temples,  traversed  by  veins  of 
immense  size,  and  the  firm  compression  of  his 
lips,  might  be  read  the  signs  of  a  man  who  car- 
ried the  gambling  spirit  into  every  incident  of  life, 
one  ready  "to  back  his  luck."  and  show  a  bold 
front  to  fortune  when  fate  proved  adverse. 

The  Greek's  manner  was  perfect.  There  was 
all  the  ease  of  a  man  used  to  society,  with  a  BOrt 
of  half- sly  courtesy,  as  he  said,  "This  is  kind- 
ness, Mr.  Atlee — this  is  real  kindness.  1  scarce- 
ly thought  an  Englishman  would  have  the  cour- 
age to  call  upon  any  thing  so  unpopular  as  I 
am." 

"  I  have  come  to  see  you  and  the  Parthenon, 
Prince,  and  I  have  begun  with  you.'' 

"  And  you  will  tell  them,  when  you  get  home, 
that  I  am  not  the  terrible  revolutionist  they  think 
me:  that  I  am  neither  Danton  nor  Felix  Pyat. 
but  a  very  mild  and  rather  tiresome  old  man. 
whose  extreme  \iolence  goes  no  further  than  be- 
lieving that  people  ought  to  hi-  masters  in  their 
own  bouse,  and  that  when  any  one  disputes  the 
right,  the  best  thing  is  to  throw  him  out  of  the 
window." 


'"If  he  will  not  go  by  the  door,"  remarked 
Atlee. 

"No,  I  would  not  give  him  the  chance  of  the 

door.     Otherwise  yon  make  no  distinction  be 

tween  your  friends  and  your  enemies.       [|  i*  |,y 

the  mild  methods— what  you  call  'milk-and-wa- 
ter methods' — men  spoil  all  their  efforts  lor  free- 
dom. You  always  want  to  cut  oil'  BOmebody's 
bead  and  spill  no  blood.  There's  the  mistake 
of  those  Irish  rebels:  they  tell  me  they  have 
courage,  but  I  find  it  hard  to  believe  them." 

"Do  believe  them,  then,  and  know  for  certain 
that  there  is  not  a  braver  people  in  Europe." 

"How  do  you  keep  them  down,  then.-'' 

"You  must  not  ask  me  that,  for  1  am  one  of 
them." 

"You  Irish?" 

"Yes,  Irish — very  Irish." 

"  Ah  !  I  see.  Irish  in  an  English  sense?  Just 
as  there  are  Greeks  here  who  believe  in  Enlbash 
Pasha,  and  would  say,  Stay  at  home  and  till  your 
currant  fields  and  mind  your  coasting  trade. 
Don't  try  to  be  civilized,  for  civilization  goes  bad- 
ly with  brigandage,  and  scarcely  suits  trickery. 
And  you  are  aware,  Mr.  Atlee.  that  trickery  and 
brigandage  are  more  to  Greece  than  olives  or 
dried  figs-." 

There  was  that  of  mockery  in  the  way  lie  said 
this,  and  the  little  smile  that  played  about  his 
mouth  when  he  finished,  that  left  Atlee  in  con- 
siderable doubt  how  to  read  him. 

"I  study  your  newspapers,  Mr.  Atlee."  re- 
sumed he.  "I  never  omit  to  read  your  Times, 
and  I  see  how  my  old  acquaintance  Lord  Danes- 
bury  has  been  making  Turkey  out  of  Ireland.  It 
is  so  hard  to  persuade  an  old  embassador  that  you 
can  not  do  every  thing  by  corruption!'' 

"  I  scarcely  think  you  do  him  justice." 

"  Poor  Danesbury  !"  ejaculated  lie.  sorrowfully. 

"  You  opine  that  his  policy  is  a  mistake  ?" 

"  Poor  Danesbury!"  said  he  again. 

"He  is  one  of  our  ablest  men,  notwithstand- 
ing. At  this  moment  we  have  not  his  superior 
in  any  thing." 

"I  was  going  to  say,  Poor  Danesbury,  but  I 
now  say,  Poor  England." 

Atlee  bit  his  lip  with  anger  at  the  sarcasm,  but 
went  on  :  "  I  infer  you  are  not  aw  are  of  the  exact 
share  subordinates  have  had  in  what  you  call  Lord 
Danesbury \s  Irish  blunders — " 

"  Pardon  my  interrupting  you — but  a  real- 
ly able  man  has  no  subordinates.  His  inferior 
agents  are  so  thoroughly  absorbed  bj  hi*  own  in- 
dividuality that  they  have  DO  wills — no  instincts 
— and  therefore  they  can  do  no  indiscretions. 
They  are  the  simple  emanations  of  himself  in  ac- 
tion." 

"  In  Turkey,  perhaps,"  said  Atlee,  with  a  smile. 

"If  in  Turkey,  why  not  in  England,  or,  at 
least,  in  Ireland  ?     If  you  are  well  Berved — and, 

mind,  you  mU8t  be  well  Berved,  or  you  are  pOW- 
erless — you  can  always  in  political  lite  see  the  ad- 
versary's hand.  That  he  sees  yours  is,  of  course, 
true:  the  great  question,  then,  is.  how  much  you 
mean  to  mi-lead  him  by  the  showing  it  ?  I  give 
you  an  instance:  Lord  Dane-hury's  cleverest 
stroke  in  policy  here,  the  one  hit  probably  he 
made  in  the  Kast,  was  to  have  a  private  corre- 
spondence with  the  Ehedire  made  known  to  the 

Russian  Embassy,  and  induce  Gortschakoffto  be- 
lieve that  he  could  not  trust  the  Pasha!  All  the 
Russian  preparations  to  move  down  on  the  prov- 


1G0 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


inces  were  countermanded.  The  stores  of  grain 
that  were  being  made  on  the  Pruth  were  arrest- 
ed, and  three,  nearly  four,  weeks  elapsed  before 
the  mistake  was  discovered,  and  in  that  interval 
England  had  reinforced  the  squadron  at  Malta, 
and  taken  steps  to  encourage  Turkey — always  to 
be  done  by  money,  or  promise  of  money." 

"  It  was  a  cou/>  of  great  adroitness,"  said  Atlee. 

"  It  was  more,"  cried  the  Greek,  with  elation. 
"It  was  a  move  of  such  subtlety  as  smacks  of 
something  higher  than  the  Saxon.  The  men 
who  do  these  things  have  the  instinct  of  their 
craft.  It  is  theirs  to  understand  that  chemistry 
of  human  motives  by  which  a  certain  combination 
results  in  effects  totally  remote  from  the  agents 
that  produce  it.     Can  you  follow  me  ?" 

"I  believe  I  can." 

"  I  would  rather  say,  Is  my  attempt  at  an  ex- 
planation sufficiently  clear  to  be  intelligible  ?" 

Atlee  looked  fixedly  at  him — and  he  could  do  so 
unobserved,  for  the  other  was  now  occupied  in  pre- 
paring his  pipe — without  minding  the  question. 
Therefore  Atlee  set  himself  to  study  the  features 
before  him.  It  was  evident  enough,  from  the  in- 
tensity of  his  gaze  and  a  certain  trembling  of  his 
upper  lip,  that  the  scrutiny  cost  him  no  common 
effort.  It  was,  in  fact,  the  effort  to  divine  what 
if  he  mistook  to  read  aright  would  be  an  irrepa- 
rable blunder. 

With  the  long-drawn  inspiration  a  man  makes 
before  he  adventures  a  daring  feat,  he  said  :  "  It 
is  time  I  should  be  candid  with  you,  Prince.  It 
is  time  I  should  tell  you  that  I  am  in  Greece  only 
to  see  you." 

"  To  see  me  ?"  said  the  other,  and  a  very  faint 
flush  passed  across  his  face. 

"To  see  you,"  said  Atlee,  slowly,  while  he  drew 
out  a  pocket-book  and  took  from  it  a  letter. 
' '  This, "  said  he,  handing  it,  "  is  to  your  address. " 
The  words  on  the  cover  were  M.  Speridionides. 

"  I  am  Speridion  Kostalergi,  and  by  birth  a 
Prince  of  Delos,"  said  the  Greek,  waving  back 
the  letter. 

"I  am  well  aware  of  that,  and  it  is  only  in 
perfect  confidence  that  I  venture  to  recall  a  past 
that  your  Excellency  will  see  I  respect ;"  and  At- 
lee spoke  with  an  air  of  deference. 

"  The  antecedents  of  the  men  who  serve  this 
country  are  not  to  be  measured  by  the  artificial 
habits  of  a  people  who  regulate  condition  by  mon- 
ey. Your  statesmen  have  no  need  to  be  journal- 
ists, teachers,  tutors :  Frenchmen  and  Italians 
are  all  these,  and  on  the  Lower  Danube  and  in 
Greece  we  are  these  and  something  more. — Nor 
are  we  less  politicians  that  we  are  more  men  of  the 
world. — The  little  of  statecraft  that  French  Em- 
peror ever  knew  he  picked  up  in  his  days  of  ex- 
ile." All  this  he  blurted  out  in  short  and  pas- 
sionate bursts,  like  an  angry  man  who  was  trying 
to  be  logical  in  his  anger,  and  to  make  an  effort 
of  reason  subdue  his  wrath. 

"  If  I  had  not  understood  these  things  as  you 
yourself  understand  them,  I  should  not  have  been 
so  indiscreet  as  to  offer  you  that  letter ;"  and  once 
more  he  proffered  it. 

This  time  the  Greek  took  it,  tore  open  the  en- 
velope, and  read  it  through. 

"It  is  from  Lord  Danesbury,"  said  he  at 
length.  "When  we  parted  last  I  was,  in  a  cer- 
tain sense,  my  lord's  subordinate — that  is,  there 
were  things  none  of  his  staff  of  secretaries  or  at- 
tache's or  dragomen  could  do,  and  I  could  do  them. 


Times  are  changed,  and  if  we  are  to  meet  again, 
it  will  be  as  colleagues.  It  is  true,  Mr.  Atlee,  the 
embassador  of  England  and  the  envoy  of  Greece 
are  not  exactly  of  the  same  rank.  I  do  not  per- 
mit myself  many  illusions,  and  this  is  not  one  of 
them;  but  remember,  if  Great  Britain  be  a  first- 
rate  power,  Greece  is  a  volcano.  It  is  for  us  to 
say  when  there  shall  be  an  eruption." 

It  was  evident,  from  the  rambling  tenor  of  this 
speech,  he  was  speaking  rather  to  conceal  his 
thoughts,  and  give  himself  time  for  reflection, 
than  to  enunciate  any  definite  opinion ;  and  so 
Atlee,  with  native  acuteness,  read  him,  as  he  sim- 
ply bowed  a  cold  assent. 

"Why  should  I  give  him  back  his  letters?" 
burst  out  the  Greek,  warmly.  "What  does  he 
offer  me  in  exchange  for  them  ?  Money !  mere 
money !  By  what  presumption  does  he  assume 
that  I  must  be  in  such  want  of  money  that  the 
only  question  should  be  the  sum  ?  May  not  the 
time  come  when  I  shall  be  questioned  in  our 
Chamber  as  to  certain  matters  of  policy,  and  my 
only  vindication  be  the  documents  of  this  same 
English  embassador,  written  in  his  own  hand  and 
signed  with  his  name?  Will  you  tell  me  that 
the  triumphant  assertion  of  a  man's  honor  is 
not  more  to  him  than  bank-notes?" 

Though  the  heroic  spirit  of  this  speech  went 
but  a  short  way  to  deceive  Atlee,  who  only  read  it 
as  a  plea  for  a  higher  price,  it  was  his  policy  to 
seem  to  believe  every  word  of  it,  and  he  looked  a 
perfect  picture  of  quiet  conviction. 

"You  little  suspect  what  these  letters  are," 
said  the  Greek. 

"  I  believe  I  know  :  I  rather  think  I  have  a  cat- 
alogue of  them  and  their  contents,  "mildly  hinted 
the  other. 

"  Ah  !  indeed ;  and  are  you  prepared  to  vouch 
for  the  accuracy  and  completeness  of  your  list?" 

"  You  must  be  a  warn  it  is  only  my  lord  himself 
can  answer  that  question. " 

"  Is  there — in  your  enumeration — is  there  the 
letter  about  Crete?  and  the  false  news  that  de- 
ceived the  Baron  de  Baude?  Is  there  the  note 
of  my  instructions  to  the  Khedive?  Is  there — 
I  am  sure  there  is  not — any  mention  of  the  ne- 
gotiation with  Stephanotis  Bey?" 

"I  have  seen  Stephanotis  myself;  I  have  just 
come  from  him,"  said  Atlee,  grasping  at  the  es- 
cape the  name  ottered. 

"  Ah,  you  know  the  old  Palikao?" 

"Intimately  :  we  are,  I  hope,  close  friends ;  he 
was  at  Kulbash  Pasha's  while  I  was  there,  and 
we  had  much  talk  together." 

"And  from  him  it  was  you  learned  that  Spe- 
ridionides  was  Speridion  kostalergi?"  said  the 
Greek,  slowly. 

"  Surely  this  is  not  meant  as  a  question,  or,  at 
least,  a  question  to  be  answered?"  said  Atlee, 
smiling. 

"No,  no,  of  course  not,"  replied  the  other,  po- 
litely. "  We  are  chatting  together,  if  not  like 
old  friends,  like  men  who  have  every  element  to 
become  dear  friends.  We  see  life  pretty  much 
from  the  same  point  of  view,  Mr.  Atlee — is  it  not 
so?" 

"It  would  be  a  great  flattery  to  me  to  think 
it."     And  Joe's  eyes  sparkled  as  he  spoke. 

"  One  has  to  make  his  choice  somewhat  early 
in  the  world  whether  he  will  hunt  or  be  hunted: 
I  believe  that  is  about  the  case." 

"I  suspect  so." 


l.OKI)  KII.OOliBIX. 


16 


"  I  did  not  lake  long   to  decide  ;    /  took   my 

place  with  tin-  wolves  !"  Nothing  could  be  more 
quietly  uttered  than  these  words;  but  there  was 
a  savage  ferocity  in  his  look  as  ho  said  them 
that  held  Atlee  almost  Bpell  bound.  '•  And  yon, 
Mr.  Atlee?  and  yon?  1  need  scarcely  ask 
where  your  choice  toll  I" 

It  was  so  palpable  that  the  words  meant  a  com- 
pliment. Atloo  had  only  to  smile  a  polite  accept- 
ance of  them. 

"These  letters,"  said  the  Greek,  resuming, 

and  liko  one  who  had  not  mentally  lapsed  from 
the  theme — '"these  letters  are  all  that  my  lord 
dooms  them.  They  are  the  very  stuff  that,  in 
your  country  of  publicity  ami  free  discussion, 
would  make  or  mar  the  very  best  reputations 
among  yon.  And."  added  he,  after  a  pause, 
"  tli. to  are  none  of  them  destroyed— none  !" 

••  lie  is  aware  of  that." 

•"No.  ho  is  not  aware  of  it  to  the  extent  I 
speak  of.  for  many  of  the  documents  that  he  be- 
lieved  he  saw  burned  in  his  own  presence,  on  bis 
own  hearth,  are  here,  here  in  the  room  we  sit  in  ! 
So  that  I  am  in  the  proud  position  of  being  able 
to  vindicate  his  policy  in  many  oases  where  his 
memory  might  prove  weak  or  fallacious." 

••Although  I  know  Lord  Danesbury's  value 
for  these  papers  does  not  bear  out  your  own,  I 
will  not  Buffer  myself  to  discuss  the  point.  I  re- 
turn at  once  to  what  I  have  come  for.  Shall  I 
make  you  an  offer  in  money  for  them,  Monsieur 
Kostalergi  ?" 

"  What  is  the  amount  you  propose?" 

''  I  was  to  negotiate  for  a  thousand  pounds 
first.  I  was  to  give  two  thousand  at  the  last  re- 
-ort.  I  will  begin  at  the  last  resort  and  pay  you 
two." 

"Why  not  piastres,  Mr.  Atlee?  I'm  sure  your 
instructions  must  have  said  piastres." 

Quite  unmoved  by  the  sarcasm.  Atlee  took  out 
his  pocket-book  and  read  from  a  memorandum  : 
'•Should  M.  Kostalergi  refuse  your  offer  or  think 
it  insufficient,  on  no  account  lot  the  negotiation 
take  any  turn  of  acrimony  or  recrimination.  He 
has  rendered  me  great  services  in  past  times,  and 
it  will  he  for  himself  to  determine  whether  he 
should  do  or  say  what  should  in  anyway  bar  our 
future  relations  together." 

••  This  is  not  a  menace?"  said  the  Greek,  smil- 
ing superciliously. 

"  No.  it  is  simply  an  instruction,"  said  the 
other,  after  a  slight  hesitation. 

"The  men  who  make  a  trade  of  diplomacy," 
said  the  Greek,  haughtily,  "reserve  it  for  their 
dealings  with  cabinets.  In  home  or  familiar  in- 
tercourse they  aro  straightforward  and  simple. 
Without  these  papers  your  noble  master  can  not 
return  to  Turkey  as  embassador.  Do  not  inter- 
rupt me.  He  can  not  come  back  as  embassador 
to  the  Porte!  It  i-  for  him  to  say  how  he  esti- 
mates the  post.  An  ambitious  man  with  ample 
reason  for  his  ambition,  an  able  man  with  a  thor- 
ough conviction  of  his  ability,  a  patriotic  man 
who  understood  and  saw  the  services  he  could 
render  to  bis  country,  would  not  bargain  at  the 
price  the  place  should  cost  him.  nor  say  ten  thou- 
sand pounds  too  much  to  pay  for  it." 

"Ten  thousand  pounds!  exolaimed  Atlee, 
but  in  real  and  unfeigned  astonishment. 

"I  have  said  ten  thousand,  and  I  v.  ill  not  say 
nine — nor  nine  thousand  tiine  hundred." 

Atlee  slowlv  arose  and  took  his  hat.  "  I  have 
L 


too  much  respect  for  yourself  and  for  your  time. 
M.  Kostalergi,  to  impose  any  longer  on  your  lei- 
sure. I  have  no  need  to  say  that  your  proposal 
is  totally  unacceptable." 

••  Vim  have  not  hoard  it  all,  Sir.  The  money 
is  but  a  pail  of  what  1  iusi>t  on.  I  shall  demand, 
besides,  that  the  British  embassador  at  Constan- 
tinople shall  formally  support  my  claim  to  be  ro- 
ceivedas  envoy  from  Greece,  and  that  the  whole 
might  of  England  bo  plod-oil  to  the  ratification 
of  my  appointment" 

A  very  oold  but  not  uncourioous  smile  was  all 

Atloo's  acknowledgment  of  this  speech. 

"There  are  small  details  which  regard  my 
title  and  the  rank  that  I  lay  claim  to.  With 
these  I  do  not  trouble  you.  I  will  merely  Baj  I 
reserve  them  if  we  should  discuss  this  in  fu- 
ture." 

"Of  that  there  is  little  prospect,  Indeed,  I  see 
none  whatever.  I  may  say  this  much,  however, 
Prince,  that  I  shall  most  willingly  undertake  to 
place  your  claims  to  be  received  as  minister  for 
Greece  at  the  Porte  under  Lord  Danesbury's  no- 
tice, and,  I  have  every  hope,  for  favorable  consid- 
eration. We  are  not  likely  to  meet  again  :  may 
I  assume  that  we  part  friends?" 

"You  only  anticipate  my  own  sincere  desire." 

As  they  passed  slowly  through  the  garden,  At- 
lee stopped  and  said :  "  Had  I  been  able  to  tell 
my  lord,  '  The  Prince  is  just  named  special  envoy 
at  Constantinople.  The  Turks  are  offended  at 
something  he  has  done  in  Crete  or  Thessaly. 
Without  certain  pressure  on  the  Divan  they  will 
not  receive  him.  Will  your  lordship  empower 
me  to  say  that  you  will  undertake  this.  and. 
moreover,  enable  me  to  assure  him  that  all  the 
cost  and  expenditure  of  his  outfit  shall  be  met 
in  a  suitable  form  ?'  If,  in  fact,  you  give  me  your 
permission  to  submit  such  a  basis  as  this,  I  should 
leave  Athens  far  happier  than  I  feel  now." 

"The  Chamber  has  already  voted  the  outfit. 
It  is  very  modest,  but  it  is  enough.  Our  nation- 
al resources  are  at  a  low  ebb.  You  might,  in- 
deed— that  is,  if  you  still  wished  to  plead  my 
cause — you  might  tell  my  lord  that  I  had  des- 
tined this  sum  as  the  fortune  of  my  daughter.  I 
have  a  daughter,  Mr.  Atlee,  and  at  present  so- 
journing in  your  own  country.  And  though  at 
one  time  I  was  minded  to  recall  her,  and  take 
her  with  me  to  Turkey,  I  have  grown  to  doubt 
whether  it  would  be  a  wise  policy.  Our  Greek 
contingencies  are  too  many  and  too  sudden  to  lot 
us  project  very  far  in  life." 

"Strange  enough,"  said  Atlee,  thoughtfully, 
"you  have  just — as  it  were  by  more  hazard — 
struck  the  one  chord  in  the  English  nature  that 
will  always  respond  to  the  appeal  of  a  home  affec- 
tion. Wore  I  to  say,  'Do  you  know  why  Kos- 
talergi makes  so  hard  a  bargain  ?      It  is  to  endow 

a  daughter.  Jt  is  the  sole  provision  he  stipulates 
to  make  her — Greek  statesmen  can  amasffno  for- 
tunes—  this  hazard  will  secure  the  girl's  future:' 
On  my  life.  I  can  not  think  of  one  argument  that 
would  have  equal  weight." 

Kostalergi  smiled  faintly,  but  did  not  speak. 

■•  Lord  Danesbury  never  married,  but  I  know 

with   what   interest  and  affection   ho   follows  the 

fortunes  of  men  who  live  to  secure  the  happiness 

of  their  children.     It  i-  the  our  plea  he  could  not 

to  he  Mire,  he  might  say.  '  Kostalergi  told 
you  tin-,  and  perhaps  at  the  time  he  himself  be- 
lieved it ;    but  how  can  a  man  who  likes  the  world 


162 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


and  its  very  costliest  pleasures  guard  himself 
against  his  own  habits?  Who  is  to  pledge  his 
honor  that  the  girl  will  ever  be  the  owner  of  this 
sum  ?'  " 

"  I  shall  place  that  beyond  a  cavil  or  a  ques- 
tion ;  he  shall  be  himself  her  guardian.  The 
money  shall  not  leave  his  hands  till  she  marries. 
You  have  your  own  laws,  by  which  a  man  can 
charge  his  estate  with  the  payment  of  a  certain 
amount.  My  lord,  if  he  assents  to  this,  will 
know  how  it  may  be  done.  I  repeat,  I  do  not 
desire  to  touch  a  drachma  of  the  sum." 

"You  interest  me  immensely.  I  can  not  tell 
you  how  intensely  I  feel  interested  in  all  this.  In 
tact,  I  shall  own  to  you  frankly  that  you  have  at 
last  employed  an  argument  I  do  not  know  how 
— even  if  I  wished — to  answer.  Am  I  at  liber- 
ty to  state  this  pretty  much  as  you  have  told  it  ?" 

"Every  word  of  it. " 

"  Will  you  go  further — will  you  give  me  a  little 
line,  a  memorandum  in  your  own  hand,  to  show 
that  I  do  not  misstate  nor  mistake  you — that  I 
have  your  meaning  correctly,  and  without  even  a 
chance  of  error  ?" 

"  I  will  write  it  formally  and  deliberately." 

The  bell  of  the  outer  door  rang  at  the  moment. 
It  was  a  telegraphic  message  to  Atlee  to  say  that 
the  steamer  had  perfected  her  repairs  and  would 
sail  that  evening. 

"  You  mean  to  sail  with  her?"  asked  the  Greek. 
"Well,  within  an  hour  you  shall  have  my  pack- 
et. Good-by.  I  have  no  doubt  we  shall  hear  of 
each  other  again." 

"  I  think  I  could  venture  to  bet  on  it,"  were 
Atlee's  last  words  as  he  turned  away. 


CHAPTER  LXV. 
"in  town." 

Lord  Danesbuet  had  arrived  at  Bruton 
Street  to  confer  with  certain  members  of  the 
Cabinet  who  remained  in  town  after  the  session 
chiefly  to  consult  with  him.  He  was  accompa- 
nied "by  his  niece,  Lady  Maude,  and  by  Wal- 
pole,  the  latter  continuing  to  reside  under  his 
roof  rather  from  old  habit  than  from  any  strong 
wish  on  either  side. 

Walpole  had  obtained  a  short  extension  of  his 
leave,  and  employed  the  time  in  trying  to  make 
up  his  mind  about  a  certain  letter  to  Nina  Kos- 
talergi,  which  he  had  written  nearly  fifty  times 
in  different  versions  and  destroyed.  Neither  his 
lordship  nor  his  niece  ever  saw  "him.  They  knew 
he  had  a  room  or  two  somewhere,  a  servant  was 
occasionally  encountered  on  the  way  to  him  with 
a  breakfast  -  tray  and  an  urn  ;  his  letters  were 
seen  on  the  hall  table ;  but,  except  these,  he  gave 
no  signs  of  life — never  appeared  at  luncheon  or 
at  dinner— and  as  much  dropped  out  of  all  mem- 
ory or  interest  as  though  he  had  ceased  to  be. 

It  was  one  evening,  yet  early — scarcely  eleven 
o'clock — as  Lord  Danesbury'slittle  party  of  four 
Cabinet  chiefs  had  just  departed,  that  he  sat  at 
the  drawing-room  fire  with  Lady  Maude,  chat- 
ting over  the  events  of  the  evening's  conversa- 
tion, and  discussing,  as  men  will  do  at  times, 
the  characters  of  their  guests. 

"It  has  been  nearly  as  tiresome  as  a  Cabinet 
Council,  Maude  !"  said  he,  with  a  sigh,  "  and  not 
unlike  it  in  one  thing — it  was  almost  always  the 


men  who  knew  least  of  any  matter  who  discuss- 
ed it  most  exhaustively." 

"  I  conclude  you  know  what  you  are  going  out 
to  do,  my  lord,  and  do  not  care  to  hear  the  des- 
ultory notions  of  people  who  know  nothing." 

"Just  so.  What  could  a  First  Lord  tell  me 
about  those  Russian  intrigues  in  Albania  ?  or  is  it 
likely  that  a  Home  Secretary  is  aware  of  what 
is  preparing  in  Montenegro  ?  They  get  hold  of 
some  crotchet  in  the  Revue  de  Deux  Mortdes, 
and,  assuming  it  all  to  be  true,  they  ask,  defiant- 
ly, '  How  are  you  going  to  deal  with  that  ?  Why 
did  you  not  foresee  the  other  ?'  and  such-like. 
How  little  they  know,  as  that  fellow  Atlee  says, 
that  a  man  evolves  his  Turkey  out  of  the  neces- 
sities of  his  pocket,  and  captures  his  Constanti- 
nople to  pay  for  a  dinner  at  the  '  Freres !'  What 
fleets  of  Russian  gun-boats  have  I  seen  launched 
to  procure  a  few  bottles  of  Champagne !  I  re- 
member a  chasse  of  Kersch,  with  the  cafe,  cost- 
ing a  whole  battery  of  Krupp's  breech-loaders !" 

"  Are  our  own  journals  more  correct  ?" 

"  They  are  more  cautious,  Maude — far  more 
cautious.  Nine  days'  wonders  with  us  would  be 
too  costly.  Nothing  must  be  risked  that  can  af- 
fect the  funds.  The  share-list  is  too  solemn  a 
thing  for  joking." 

"The  Premier  was  very  silent  to-night,"  said 
she,  after  a  pause. 

"  He  generally  is  in  company  :  he  looks  like  a 
man  bored  at  being  obliged  to  listen  to  people 
saying  the  things  that  he  knows  as  well,  and 
could  tell  better  than  they  do." 

"  How  completely  he  appears  to  have  forgiven 
or  forgotten  the  Irish  Jiasco  /" 

"  Of  course  he  has.  An  extra  blunder  in  the 
conduct  of  Irish  affairs  is  only  like  an  additional 
mask  in  a  fancy  ball — the  whole  thing  is  motley ; 
and  asking  for  consistency  would  be  like  request- 
ing the  company  to  behave  like  archdeacons. " 

"And  so  the  mischief  has  blown  over?" 

"  In  a  measure  it  has.  The  Opposition  quar- 
reled among  themselves  ;  and  such  as  were  not 


LORD  K1LG0BB1N. 


163 


ready  to  take  office  if  we  were  beaten  declined 
to  press  the  motion.  The  irresponsiblea  wenl 
on,  a-  they  always  do,  to  their  own  destruction. 
They  became  violent,  and,  of  course,  our  people 
appealed  against  tlie  violence,  and  with  such 
temperate  language  and  good-breeding  that  we 
carried  the  House  with  us." 

"I  see  there  was  quite  a  sensation  about  the 
wonl  •  villain.' " 

"No;  miscreant.  It  was  miscreant — a  word 
very  popular  in  O'OonnelTs  day,  but  rather  ob- 
solete now.  When  t lie  Speaker  called  on  the 
member  for  an  apology  we  had  won  the  day  ! 
These  rash  utterances  in  debate  are  the  explo- 
sive balls  that  no  one  must  use  in  battle;  and  if 
we  only  discover  one  in  a  fellow's  pouch  we  dis- 
credit the  whole  army." 

' '  I  forget :  did  they  press  for  a  division  ?" 

"No;  we  stopped  them.  We  agreed  to  give 
them  a  '  special  committee  to  inquire.'  Of  all 
devices  for  secrecy  invented,  I  know  of  none  like 
i  '  special  committee  of  inquiry.'  Whatever  peo- 
ple have  known  beforehand  their  faith  will  now 
be  shaken  in,  and  every  possible  or  accidental 
contingency  assume  a  shape,  a  size,  and  a  stability 
beyond  all  belief.  They  have  got  their  com- 
mittee, and  I  wish  them  luck  of  it!  The  only 
men  who  could  tell  them  any  thing  will  take 
care  not  to  criminate  themselves,  and  the  report 
will  be  a  plaintive  cry  over  a  country  where  so 
few  people  can  be  persuaded  to  tell  the  troth, 
and  nobody  should  seem  any  worse  in  conse- 
quence." 

"Cecil  certainly  did  it,"  said  she,  with  a  cer- 
tain bitterness. 

"  I  suppose  he  did.  These  young  players  are 
always  thinking  of  scoring  eight  or  ten  on  a  sin- 
gle hazard  :  one  should  never  back  them !" 

••  Mr.  Atlee  said  there  was  some  female  influ- 
ence at  work.  lie  would  not  tell  me  what  nor 
whom.     Possibly  he  did  not  know." 

"  I  rather  suspect  he  did  know.  They  were 
people,  if  I  mistake  not,  belonging  to  that  Irish 
castle — Kil — Kil-somebody,  or  Kil-something." 

'"Was  Walpole  flirting  there?  was  he  going 
to  marry  one  of  them?" 

'"  Flirting,  I  take  it,  must  have  been  the  ex- 
tent of  the  folly.  Cecil  often  said  he  could  not 
many  Irish.  I  have  known  men  do  it!  You 
are  aware,  Maude" — and  here  he  looked  with  un- 
common gravity — "  the  penal  laws  have  been  all 
repealed?" 

"I  was  speaking  of  society,  my  lord,  not  the 
statutes,"  said  she,  resentfully,  and  half  suspi- 
cious of  a  sly  jest. 

"  Had  she  money?"  asked  he,  curtly. 

"I  can  not  tell;  I  know  nothing  of  these 
people  whatever!  I  remember  something — it 
was  a  newspaper  story — of  a  girl  that  saved  Ce- 
cil's life  by  throwing  herself  before  him :  a  very 
pretty  incident  it  was  ;  but  these  things  make  no 
figure  in  a  settlement ;  and  a  woman  may  be 
as  bold  as  Joan  of  Arc,  and  not  have  sixpence. 
Atlee  says  you  can  always  settle  the  courage  on 
t lie  younger  children." 

"Atlee's  an  arrant  scamp."  said  my  lord, 
laughing.  "He  should  have  written  some  days 
since." 

"  I  suppose  he  is  too  late  for  the  borough  ; 
the  Cradford  election  comes  on  next  week  ?" 
Though  there  could  not  be  any  thing  more  lan- 
guidly indifferent  than  her  voice  in  this  question, 


a   faint   pinkish   tinge    flitted   across   her  cheek, 
and  left  it  colorless  as  before. 

"  Yes,  be  lias  bis  address  out,  and  their  i>  :i 
sort    of   committee  —  certain    licensed    \ictualer 

people— to  whom  he  has  been  promising  Bom< 
especial  Sabbath-breaking  that  they  yearn  after. 

1  have  not  read  it." 

'•  /  have;  and  it  is  cleverly  written,  and  there 
is  little  more  radical  in  it  than  we  heard  this  yen 
day  at  dinner.  He  tells  the  electors,  '  You  an- 
no more  bound  to  the  support  of  an  army  or  a 
navy,  if  you  do  not  wish  to  fight,  than  to  maintain 
the  College  of  Surgeons  and  Physicians,  if  you 
object  to  take  physic. '  lie  says:  '  To  tell  we  that 
1,  with  eight  shillings  a  week,  have  an  equal  inter- 
est in  resisting  invasion  as  your  Lord  Dido,  with 
eighty  thousand  per  annum,  is  simply  nonsense. 
If  you, 'cries  he  to  one  of  his  supporters,  'were 
to  be  offered  your  life  by  a  highwayman  on  sur- 
rendering some  few  pence  or  half-pence  you  car- 
ried in  your  pocket,  you  do  not  mean  to  dic- 
tate what  my  Lord  Marquis  might  do,  who  has 
got  a  gold  watch  and  a  pocketful  of  notes  in  his. 
And  so  I  say  once  more,  let  the  rich  pay  for  the 
defense  of  what  they  value.  You  and  I  have 
nothing  worth  fighting  for,  and  we  will  not  fight." 
Then  as  to  religion — " 

"Oh,  spare  me  his  theology!  I  can  almost 
imagine  it,  Maude.  I  had  no  conception  he  was 
such  a  radical." 

"He  is  not  really,  my  lord;  but  he  tells  me 
that  we  must  all  go  through  this  stage.  It  is, 
as  he  says,  like  a  course  of  those  waters  whose 
benefit  is  exactly  in  proportion  to  the  way  they 
disagree  with  you  at  first.  He  even  said,  one 
evening  before  he  went  away,  'Take  my  word 
for  it.  Lady  Maude,  we  shall  be  burning  these 
apostles  of  ballot  and  universal  suffrage  in  effigy 
one  day ;  but  I  intend  to  go  beyond  every  one 
else  in  the  mean  while,  else  the  rebound  back 
will  lose  half  its  excellence.'" 

"What  is  this?"  cried  he,  as  the  servant  en- 
tered with  a  telegram.  "  This  is  from  Athens, 
Maude,  and  in  cipher,  too.  How  are  we  to 
make  it  out?" 

"Cecil  has  the  key,  my  lord.  It  is  the  dip- 
lomatic cipher." 

"Do  you  think  you  could  find  it  in  his  room, 
Maude  ?     It  is  possible  this  might  be  imminent." 

"I  shall  see  if  he  is  at  home,"  said  she,  rising 
to  ring  the  bell.  The  servant  sent  to  inquire 
returned,  saying  that  Mr.  Walpole  had  dined 
abroad,  and  not  returned  since  dinner. 

"I'm  sure  you  could  find  the  book,  Maude, 
and  it  is  a  small,  square-shaped  volume,  bound 
in  dark  Russia  leather,  with  F.  O.  on  the  cover." 

"I  know  the  look  of  it  well  enough  ;  but  I  do 
|  not  fancy  ransacking  Cecil's  chamber." 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  should  like  to  await 
his  return  to  read  my  dispatch.  1  can  just  make 
out  that  it  comes  from  Atlee." 

"I  suppose  I  had  better  go,  then,"  said  she, 
reluctantly,  as  she  rose  and  left  the  room. 
!  Ordering  the  butler  to  precede  and  show  her 
the  way,  Lady  .Maude  ascended  to  a  story  abovo 
that  she  usually  inhabited,  and  found  herself  in 
a  very  Bpacioas  chamber,  with  an  alcove,  into 
which  a  bed  fitted,  the  remaining  space  being 
arranged  like  an  ordinary  sitting-room.  There 
were  numerous  chairs  and  sofas  of  comfortable 
form,  a  well-cushioned  ottoman,  smelling,  in- 
deed, villainously  of  tobacco,  and  a  neat  writing- 


164 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


table,  with  a  most  luxurious   arrangement  of 
shaded  wax-lights  above  it. 

A  singularly  well  executed  photograph  of  a 
young  and  very  lovely  woman,  with  masses  of 
loose  hair  flowing  over  her  neck  and  shoulders, 
stood  on  a  little  gilt  easel  on  the  desk,  and  it  was, 
strange  enough,  with  a  sense  of  actual  relief, 
.Maude  read  the  word  Titian  on  the  frame.     It 
was  a  copy  of  the  great  master's  picture  in  the  ' 
Dresden  Gallery,  and  of  which  there  is  a  replica  j 
in  the  Barberini  Palace  at  Rome ;  but  still  the  I 
portrait  had  another  memory  for  Lady  Maude,  | 
who  quickly  recalled  the  girl  she  had  once  seen 
in  a  crowded  assembly,  passing  through  a  mur-  | 
inur  of  admiration  that  no  conventionality  could 
repress,  and  whose  marvelous  beauty  seemed  to 
glow  with  the  homage  it  inspired. 

Scraps  of  poetry,  copies  of  verses,  changed  and 
blotted  couplets,  were  scrawled  on  loose  sheets  of 
paper  on  the  desk ;  but  Maude  minded  none  of 
these,  as  she  pushed  them  away  to  rest  her  arm 
on  the  table,  while  she  sat  gazing  on  the  picture. 

The  face  had  so  completely  absorbed  her  at- 
tention— so,  to  say,  fascinated  her — that  when 
the  servant,  who  had  found  the  volume  he  was 
in  search  of,  presented  it  to  her,  she  merely  said, 
"Take  it  to  my  lord,"  and  sat  still,  with  her 
head  resting  on  her  hands,  and  her  eyes  fixed  on 
the  portrait. 

"There  may  be  some  resemblance,  there  may 
be,  at  least,  what  might  remind  people  of  '  the 
Laura' — so  was  it  called  ;  but  who  will  pretend 
that  she  carried  her  head  with  that  swing  of  lofty 
pride,  or  that  her  look  could  rival  the  blended 
majesty  and  womanhood  we  see  here !  I  do  not 
— I  can  not  believe  it !" 

"  What  is  it,  Maude,  that  you  will  not  or  can 
not  believe  ?"  said  a  low  voice ;  and  she  saw  Wal- 
pole  standing  beside  her. 

"Let  me  first  excuse  myself  for  being  here," 
said  she,  blushing.  "I  came  in  search  of  that 
little  cipher-book  to  interpret  a  dispatch  that  has 
just  come.  When  Fenton  found  it  I  was  so  en- 
grossed by  this  pretty  face  that  I  have  done  noth- 
ing but  gaze  at  it." 

"And  what  was  it  that  seemed  so  incredible 
as  I  came  in  ?" 

"Simply  this,  then,  that  any  one  should  be  so 
beautiful." 

"Titian  seems  to  have  solved  that  point;  at 
least,  Vasari  tells  us  this  was  a  portrait  of  a  lady 
of  the  Guicciardini  family." 

"I  know — I  know  that,"  said  she,  impatient- 
ly; "and  we  do  see  faces  in  which  Titian  or 
Velasquez  has  stamped  nobility  and  birth  as 
palpably  as  they  have  painted  loveliness  and  ex- 
pression. And  such  were  these  women,  daugh- 
ters in  a  long  line  of  the  proud  Patricians  who 
once  ruled  Rome." 

"And  yet,"  said  he,  slowly,  "that  portrait 
has  its  living  counterpart." 

"lam  aware  of  whom  you  speak :  the  awk- 
ward angular  girl  we  all  saw  at  Rome,  and  that 
you  young  gentlemen  called  the  Tizziana." 

"  She  is  certainly  no  longer  awkward  nor  an- 
gular now,  if  she  were  once  so,  which  I  do  not 
remember.  She  is  a  model  of  grace  and  sym- 
metry, and  as  much  more  beautiful  than  "that 
picture  as  color,  expression,  and  movement  are 
better  than  a  lifeless  image." 

"  There  is  the  fervor  of  a  lover  in  your  words, 
Cecil."  said  she,  smiling  faintly. 


"It  is  not  often  I  am  so  forgetful,"  muttered 
he;  "but  so  it  is;  our  cousinship  has  done  it 
all,  Maude.  One  revels  in  expansiveness  with 
his  own,  and  I  can  speak  to  you  as  I  can  not  to 
another." 

"  It  is  a  great  flattery  to  me." 

"  In  fact,  I  feel  that  at  last  I  have  a  sister — 
a  dear  and  loving  spirit  who  will  give  to  true 
friendship  those  delightful  traits  of  pity  and  ten- 
derness, and  even  forgiveness,  of  which  only  the 
woman's  nature  can  know  the  needs." 

Lady  Maude  rose  slowly,  without  a  word. 
Nothing  of  heightened  color  or  movement  of 
her  features  indicated  anger  or  indignation,  and 
though  Walpole  stood  with  an  affected  submis- 
siveness  before  her,  he  marked  her  closely. 

"  I  am  sure,  Maude," continued  he,  "you  must 
often  have  wished  to  have  a  brother. " 

"Never  so  much  as  at  this  moment!"  said 
she,  calmly — and  now  she  had  reached  the  door. 
"If  I  had  had  a  brother,  Cecil  Walpole,  it  is 
possible  I  might  have  been  spared  this  insult!" 

The  next  moment  the  door  closed,  and  Wal- 
pole was  alone. 


CHAPTER  LXVI. 
atlee's  message. 

"I  am  right,  Maude,"  said  Lord  Danesbury, 
as  his  niece  re-entered  the  drawing-room.  "  This 
is  from  Atlee,  who  is  at  Athens ;  but  why  there 
I  can  not  make  out  as  yet.  There  are,  accord- 
ing to  the  book,  two  explanations  here:  491 
means  a  white  dromedary,  or  the  chief  clerk, 
and  B  +  49  =  1 2  stands  for  our  Envoy  in  Greece, 
or  a  snuffer-dish." 

''Don't  you  think,  my  lord,  it  would  be  better 
for  you  to  send  this  up  to  Cecil?  He  has  just  come 
in.    He  hashad  much  experience  of  these  things." 

"You  are  quite  right,  Maude ;  let  Fenton  take 
it  up  and  beg  for  a  speedy  transcript  of  it.  I 
should  like  to  see  it  at  once." 

While  his  lordship  waited  for  his  dispatch  he 
grumbled  away  about  every  thing  that  occurred 
to  him,  and  even,  at  last,  about  the  presence  of 
the  very  man,  Walpole,  who  was  at  that  same 
moment  engaged  in  serving  him. 

"Stupid  fellow," muttered  he,  "why  does  he 
ask  for  extension  of  his  leave  ?  Staying  in  town 
here  is  only  another  name  for  spending  money. 
He'll  have  to  go  out  at  last ;  better  do  it  at  once !" 

"He  may  have  his  own  reasons,  my  lord,  for 
delay,"  said  Maude,  rather  to  suggest  further  dis- 
cussion of  the  point. 

"  He  may  think  he  has,  I've  no  doubt.  These 
small  creatures  have  always  scores  of  irons  in 
the  fire.  So  it  was  when  I  agreed  to  go  to  Ire- 
land. There  were  innumerable  fine  things  and 
clever  things  he  was  to  do.  There  were  schemes 
by  which  '  the  Cardinal'  was  to  be  cajoled,  and 
the  whole  Bar  bamboozled.  Every  one  was  to 
have  office  dangled  before  his  eyes,  and  to  be 
treated  so  confidentially  and  affectionately  under 
disappointment  that  even  when  a  man  got  noth- 
ing lie  would  feel  he  had  secured  the  regard  of 
the  Prime  Minister!  If  I  took  him  out  to  Tur- 
key to-morrow,  he'd  never  be  easy  till  he  had  a 
plan  'to  square'  the  Grand  Vizier,  and  entrap 
Gortschakoff  or  Miliutin.  These  men  don't 
know  that  a  clever  fellow  no  more  goes  in  search 
of  rogueries  than  a  fox-hunter  looks  out  for  stiff 


LORD  KlLllOHHIX. 


165 


fences.  You  'take  them'  when  they  lie  before 
you,  that's  all."  This  little  burst  of  indignation 
seemed  to  have  the  effect  on  him  of  a  little 
wholesome  exercise,  for  he  appeared  to  feel  him- 
self better  and  easier  after  it. 

"Dear   me!   dear   me!"  muttered    lie,  "how 
pleasant  one's  lite  might  he  it'  it  were  not  for  the 


in  his  hand,  and  advanced  to  where  Lord  1 ' 
bury  was  Bitting. 

"I  believe,  my  lord,  I  have  made  out  this 
message  in  Bucb  a  shape  as  will  enable  you  to  di- 
vine what  it  means.     It  runs  thus  :  '  Athens.  6th, 

li'  o'clock.     Have  seen  S ,  and  conferred  at 

length  with  him.    fits  estimate  <>/'  value,'  or  lhii 


clever  fellows!  I  mean,  of  COOne,"  added  he, 
after  a  second  or  two,  "the  clever  fellows  who 
want  to  impress  as  with  their  cleverness. ' 

Maude  would  not  be  entrapped  or  enticed  into 
what  might  lead  to  a  discussion.  Sin;  never  ut- 
tered a  word,  and  he  was  silent 

It  was  in  the  perfect  stillness  that  followed 
that  Walpole  entered  the  room  with  the  telegram 


price' — for  the  signs  will  mean  either — 'to  my 
thinking,  enormous.  Hit  reasoning*  certainly 
stron;/,  and  not  easy  to  rebut.'  That  may  be  pos 
Bibly  rendered,  demands  that  might  probably  be 
reduced.  '  I  leavi  to-day,  and  thatt  he  in  En- 
gland by  middle  of  >e  vt  wt  •  h.  A  i  u  I  , '  " 

Walpole  looked  keenly  at  the  other's  nice  as 
h'-  read  the  paper,  to  mark  what  signa  of  interest 


166 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


or  eagerness  the  tidings  might  evoke.  There 
was,  however,  nothing  to  be  read  in  those  cold 
and  quiet  features. 

"I  am  glad  he  is  coming  back,"  said  he  at 
length.  "Let  us  see:  he  can  reach  Marseilles 
by  Monday,  or  even  Sunday  night.  I  don't  see 
why  he  should  not  be  here  Wednesday,  or  Thurs- 
day at  farthest.  By-the-way,  Cecil,  tell  me  some- 
thing about  our  friend — who  is  he  ?" 

"  Don't  know,  my  lord." 

"Don't  know!  How  came  you  acquainted 
with  him  ?" 

"  Met  him  at  a  country  house  where  I  hap- 
pened to  break  my  arm,  and  took  advantage  of 
this  young  fellow's  skill  in  surgery  to  engage  his 
services  to  carry  me  to  town.  There's  the  whole 
of  it." 

"Is  he  a  surgeon?" 

"  No,  my  lord,  any  more  than  he  is  fifty  other 
things  of  which  he  has  a  smattering. " 

"  Has  he  any  means^any  private  fortune  ?" 

"I  suspect  not." 

"Who  and  what  are  his  family?  Are  there 
Atlees  in  Ireland  ?" 

"  There  may  be,  my  lord.  There  was  an  At- 
lee,  a  college  porter,  in  Dublin  ;  but  I  heard  our 
friend  say  that  they  were  only  distantly  related." 

He  could  not  help  watching  Lady  Maude  as 
he  said  this,  and  was  rejoiced  to  see  a  sudden 
twitch  of  her  lower  lip,  as  if  in  pain. 

"You  evidently  sent  him  over  to  me,  then,  on 
a  very  meagre  knowledge  of  the  man,"  said  his 
lordship,  rebukingly. 

"I  believe,  my  lord,  I  said  at  the  time  that  I 
had  by  me  a  clever  fellow,  who  wrote  a  good 
hand,  could  copy  correctly,  and  was  sufficient  of 
a  gentleman  in  his  manners  to  make  intercourse 
with  him  easy,  and  not  disagreeable." 

' '  A  very  guarded  recommendation, "said  Lady 
Maude,  with  a  smile. 

"Was  it  not,  Maude?"  continued  he,  his  eyes 
flashing  with  triumphant  insolence. 

"  /  found  he  could  do  more  than  copy  a  dis- 
patch— I  found  he  could  write  one.  He  replied 
to  an  article  in  the  Edinburgh  on  Turkey,  and  I 
saw  him  write  it  as  I  did  not  know  there  was 
another  man  but  myself  in  England  could  have 
done. " 

"Perhaps  your  lordship  had  talked  over  the 
subject  in  his  presence,  or  with  him  ?" 

"  And  if  I  had,  Sir  ?  and  if  all  his  knowledge 
on  a  complex  question  was  such  as  he  could  car- 
ry away  from  a  random  conversation,  what  a 
gifted  dog  he  must  be  to  sift  the  wheat  from  the 
chaff — to  strip  a  question  of  what  were  mere  ac- 
cidental elements,  and  to  test  a  difficulty  by  its 
real  qualities.  Atlee  is  a  clever  fellow,  an  able 
fellow,  I  assure  you.  That  very  telegram  be- 
fore us  is  a  proof  how  he  can  deal  with  a  matter 
on  which  instruction  would  be  impossible." 

"Indeed,  my  lord!"  said  Walpole,  with  well- 
assumed  innocence. 

"I  am  right  glad  to  know  he  is  coming  home. 
He  must  demolish  that  writer  in  the  Revue  de 
Deux  Mondes  at  once — some  unprincipled  French 
lilackguard,  who  has  been  put  up  to  attack  me 
by  Thouvenel!" 

Would  it  have  appeased  his  lordship*s  wrath 
to  know  that  the  writer  of  this  defamatory  article 
was  no  other  than  Joe  Atlee  himself,  and  that  the 
reply  which  was  to  "demolish  it"  was  more  than 
half  written  in  his  desk  at  that  moment  ?  , 


"I  shall  ask,"  continued  my  lord — "I  shall 
ask  him,  besides,  to  write  a  paper  on  Ireland, 
and  that  fiasco  of  yours,  Cecil." 

"Much  obliged,  my  lord !" 

"Don't  be  angry  or  indignant!  A  fellow 
with  a  neat,  light  hand  like  Atlee  can,  even  un- 
der the  guise  of  allegation,  do  more  to  clear  you 
than  scores  of  vulgar  apologists.  He  can,  at 
least,  show  that  what  our  distinguished  head  of 
the  Cabinet  calls  '  the  flesh-and-blood  argument' 
has  its  full  weight  with  us  in  our  government 
of  Ireland,  and  that  our  bitterest  enemies  can 
not  say,  '  We  have  no  sympathies  with  the  na- 
tion we  rule  over. ' " 

"I  suspect,  my  lord,  that  what  you  have  so 
graciously  called  '  my  fiasco  is  well-nigh  forgot- 
ten by  this  time,  and  wiser  policy  would  say. 
'Do  not  revive  it!'" 

"There's  a  great  policy  in  saying  in  'an  arti- 
cle' all  that  could  be  said  in  'a  debate,'  and 
showing  after  all  how  little  it  comes  to.  Even 
the  feeble  grievance-mongers  grow  ashamed  at 
retailing  the  review  and  the  newspapers ;  but, 
what  is  better  still,  if  the  article  be  smartly 
written,  they  are  sure  to  mistake  the  peculiari- 
ties of  style  for  points  in  the  argument.  I  have 
seen  some  splendid  blunders  of  that  kind  when 
I  sat  in  the  Lower  House!  1  wish  Atlee  was  in 
Parliament." 

"I  am  not  aware  that  he  can  speak,  my  lord." 

"  Neither  am  I ;  but  I  should  risk  a  small 
bet  on  it.  He  is  a  ready  fellow,  and  the  ready 
fellows  are  many-sided,  eh,  Maude?" 

Now,  though  his  lordship  only  asked  for  his 
niece's  concurrence  in  his  own  sage  remark,  Wal- 
pole affected  to  understand  it  as  a  direct  appeal 
to  her  opinion  of  Atlee,  and  said,  "Is  that  your 
judgment  of  this  gentleman,  Maude?" 

"I  have  no  prescription  to  measure  the  abili- 
ties of  such  men  as  Mr.  Atlee." 

"  You  find  him  pleasant,  witty,  and  agreea- 
ble, I  hope  ?"  said  he,  with  a  touch  of  sarcasm. 

"Yes,  I  think  so." 

"  With  an  admirable  memoiy  and  great  read- 
iness for  an  a  jiropos?" 

"  Perhaps  he  has." 

"Asa  retailer  of  an  incident  they  tell  me  he 
has  no  rival." 

"I  can  not  say." 

"Of  course  not.  I  take  it  the  fellow  has  tact 
enough  not  to  tell  stories  here." 

"  What  is  all  that  you  are  saying  there  ?"  cried 
his  lordship,  to  whom  these  few  sentences  were 
"an  aside." 

"  Cecil  is  praising  Mr.  Atlee,  my  lord,"  said 
Maude,  bluntly. 

"I  did  not  know  I  had  been,  my  lord,"  said 
he.  "  He  belongs  to  a  class  of  men  who  inter- 
est me  very  little." 

"  What" class  may  that  be?" 

"  The  adventurers,  my  lord.  The  fellows  who 
make  the  campaign  of  life  on  the  faith  that  they 
shall  find  their  rations  in  some  other  man's 
knapsack." 

"Ha!  indeed.     Is  that  our  friend's  line?" 

"  Most  undoubtedly,  my  lord.  I  am  ashamed 
to  say  that  it  was  entirely  my  own  fault  if  you 
are  saddled  with  the  fellow  at  all." 

"  I  do  not  see  the  infliction — " 

"  I  mean,  my  lord,  that,  in  a  measure.  I  put 
him  on  you  without  very  well  knowing  what  it 
was  that  I  did." 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


L67 


"Have  you  heard — do  you  know  any  thing 
of  the  man  that  Bhould  inspire  caution  or  difi 
trust  ?" 

"  Well,  these  are  strong  words,"  muttered  he, 
hesitatingly. 

But  I.ady  Maude  broke  in  with  a  passionate 
tone:  "  Don't  you  see.  my  lord,  that  he  does  not 
know  any  thing  to  this  person's  disadvantage — 
that  it  is  only  my  cousin's  diplomatic  reserve —  , 
that  commendable  caution  of  his  order — suggests 
his  careful  conduct  ?  Cecil  knows  no  more  of 
Atlee  than  we  do." 

"Perhaps  not  so  much,"  said  Walpole,  with 
an  impertinent  simper. 

"/  know,"  said  his  lordship,  "that  he  is  a| 
monstrous  clever  fellow,      lie  can  find  you  the 
passage  you  want  or  the  authority  you  are  seek-  J 
ing  for  at  a  moment  ;  and  when  he  writes  he  can 
he  rapid  and  concise  too."' 

"He  has  many  rare  gifts,  my  lord,"  said  Wal- 
pole, with  the  sly  air  of  one  who  had  said  a  cov-  i 
ert  impertinence.  "  I  am  very  curious  to  know 
what  you  mean  to  do  with  him." 

"  .Mean  to  do  with  him?  Why,  what  should 
I  mean  to  do  with  him  ?" 

"  The  very  point  I  wish  to  learn.  A  protege,  j 
my  lord,  is  a  parasitic  plant,  and  you  can  not  de- 
prive it  of  its  double  instincts — to  cling  and  to  I 
climb." 

'•  How  witty  my  cousin  has  become  since  his  i 
sojourn  in  Ireland  !"  said  Maude. 

Walpole  Hushed  deeply,  and  for  a  moment  he 
seemed  about  to  reply  angrily  ;  but,  with  an  ef-  i 
fort,  he  controlled  himself,  and,  turning  toward  | 
the  time-piece  on  the  chimney,  said  :  "  How  late !  j 
I  could  not  have  believed  it  was  past  one !  I  hope, 
my  hud.  I  have  made  your  dispatch  intelligible?"  j 

"Yes.  yes;   I  think  so.     Besides,  he  will  be  [ 
here  in  a  day  or  two  to  explain." 

"  I  shall,  then,  say  good-night,  my  lord.  Good 
night,  ( !ousin  Maude."  But  Lady  Maude  had  al 
ready  left  the  room  unnoticed. 


CHAPTER  LXVII. 


WALPOLE    ALOXE. 


Once  more  in  his  own  room,  Walpole  re- 
turned to  the  task  of  that  letter  to  Nina  Kos- 
talergi,  of  which  he  had  made  nigh  fifty  drafts, 
and  not  one  with  which  he  was  satisfied. 

It  was  not  really  very  easy  to  do  what  he  wish- 
ed. He  desired  to  seem  a  warm,  rapturous,  im- 
pulsive lover,  who  had  no  thought  in  life — no 
other  hope  or  ambition — than  the  success  of  his 
suit.  He  -ought  to  show  that  she  had  so  enrapt- 
ured and  inthralled  him  that,  until  she  consent- 
ed to  share  his  fortunes,  he  was  a  man  utterly  lost 
to  life  and  life's  ambitions;  and  while  insinua- 
ting what  a  tremendous  responsibility  she  would 
take  on  herself  if  Bhe  should  venture,  by  a  refusal 
of  him,  to  rob  the  world  of  those  abilities  that 
the  age  could  ill  spare,  he  also  dimly  shadowed 
the  natural  pride  a  woman  ought  to  feel  in  know- 
ing that  she  was  asked  to  l>e  the  partner  of  such 
a  man:    and    that   one   for  whom  destiny  in  all 

likelihood  reserved  the  highest  rewards  of  public 

life  was  then,  with  the  full  consciousness  of  what 
he  was  and  what  awaited  him,  ready  to  share 
that  proud  eminence  with  her,  as  a  prince  might 
have  offered  to  share  his  throne. 


In  spile  of  himself,  in  spite  of  all  he  could  do, 
it  was  on  this  latter  part  of  his  letter  his  pen  ran 

most    freely.       lie   could   condense   his   raptures, 

he  could  control  in  most  praiseworthy  fashion  all 

the  extravagances  of  passion  and  the  imaginative 
joys  of  love:  but,  for  the  life  of  him,  he  could 
abate  nothing  of  the  triumphant  ecstasy  that 
must  be  the  feeling  of  the  woman  who  had 
won  him  —  the  passionate  delight  of  her  who 
should  be  his  wife,  and  enter  life  the  chosen 
one  of  his  affection. 

It  was  wonderful  how  glibly  he  could  insist  on 
this  to  himself,  and,  fancying  for  the  moment 
that  he  was  one  of  the  outer  world  commenting 
on  the  match,  say  :  "  Yes,  let  people  decry  the 
Walpole  class  how  they  might — they  are  elegant, 
they  are  exclusive,  they  are  fastidious,  they  are 
all  that  you  like  to  call  the  spoiled  children  of 
Fortune  in  their  wit,  their  brilliancy,  and  their 
readiness,  but  they  are  the  only  men— the  only 
men  in  the  world — who  marry — we'll  not  say  for 
'love,'  for  the  phrase  is  vulgar — but  who  marry 
to  please  themselves !  This  girl  had  not  a  shil- 
ling. As  to  family,  all  is  said  when  we  say  she 
was  a  Greek !  Is  there  not  something  downright 
chivalrous  in  marrying  such  a  woman?  Is  it 
the  act  of  a  worldly  man  ?" 

He  walked  the  room,  uttering  this  question  to 
himself  over  and  over.  Not  exactly  that  he 
thought  disparagingly  of  worldliness  and  mate- 
rial advantages,  but  he  had  lashed  himself  into  a 
false  enthusiasm  as  to  qualities  which  he  thought 
had  some  special  worshipers  of  their  own,  and 
whose  good  opinion  might  possibly  be  turned  to 
profit  somehow  and  somewhere,  if  he  only  knew 
how  and  where.  It  was  a  monstrous  fine  thing 
he  was  about  to  do  ;  that  he  felt.  Where  was 
there  another  man  in  his  position  would  take  a 
portionless  girl  and  make  her  his  wife  ?  Cadets 
and  cornets  in  light  dragoon  regiments  did  these 
things;  they  liked  their  "bit  of  beauty;"  and 
there  was  a  sort  of  mock  -  poetry  about  these 
creatures  that  suited  that  sort  of  thing;  but 
for  a  man  who  wrote  his  letters  from  Brookes's, 
and  whose  dinner  invitations  included  all  that  was 
great  in  town,  to  stoop  to  such  an  alliance  was  as 
bold  a  defiance  as  one  could  throw  at  a  world  of 
self-seeking  and  conventionality. 

"That  Emperor  of  the  French  did  it,"  cried 
he.  "  I  can  not  recall  to  my  mind  another.  He 
did  the  very  same  thing  I  am  going  to  do.  To 
be  sure,  he  had  the  'pull  on  me'  in  one  point. 
As  he  said  himself,  '  I  am  a  parvenu.'  Now,  / 
can  not  go  that  far!  I  must  justify  my  act  on 
other  grounds,  as  I  hope  I  can  do,"  cried  he, 
after  a  pause ;  while,  with  head  erect  and  swell- 
ing chest,  he  went  on :  "  I  felt  within  me  the 
place  I  yet  should  occupy.  I  knew  ay.  knew 
— the  prize  that  awaited  me,  and  I  asked  myself, 
'  Do  you  see  in  any  capital  of  Europe  one  woman 
with  whom  you  would  like  to  share  this  fortune  ? 
Is  there  one  sufficiently  gifted  and  graceful  to 
make  her  elevation  seem  a  natural  and  fitting 
promotion,  and  herself  appear  the  appropriate 
OCCUpant  of  the  station  ?' 

"She  is  wonderfully  beautiful:  there  is  no 
doubt   of  it.       Such    beauty   as    they   have   never 

seen  here  in  their  lives !    Fanciful  extravagances 

in  dreSS  and  atrocious  hair-dre-.-ine;  can  not  dis- 
figure her  ;  and  by  Jove!  she  lias  tried  both.  And 
one  has  onh  to  imagine  that  woman  dressed  and 
1  coilfe'cd'  as  she  might   be.  to  conceive  such  a 


168 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


triumph  as  London  has  not  witnessed  for  the  cen- 
tury! And  I  do  long  for  such  a  triumph.  If 
my  lord  would  only  invite  us  here,  were  it  but 
for  a  week !  We  should  be  asked  to  Goreham 
and  the  Bexsmiths'.  My  lady  never  omits  to 
invite  a  great  beauty.  It's  her  way  to  protest 
that  she  is  still  handsome,  and  not  at  all  jealous. 
How  are  we  to  get  'asked'  to  Bruton  Street?" 
asked  he  over  and  over,  as  though  the  sounds 
must  secure  the  answer.  "  Maude  will  never 
permit  it.  The  unlucky  picture  has  settled  that 
point.  Maude  will  not  suffer  her  to  cross  the 
threshold !  But  for  the  portrait  I  could  bespeak 
my  cousin's  favor  and  indulgence  for  a  somewhat 
countrified  young  girl,  dowdy  and  awkward.  I 
could  plead  for  her  good  looks  in  that  ad  miseri- 
cordiam  fashion  that  disarms  jealousy,  and  enlists 
her  generosity  for  a  humble  connection  she  need 
never  see  more  of!  If  I  could  only  persuade 
Maude  that  I  had  done  an  indiscretion,  and  that 
I  knew  it,  I  should  be  sure  of  her  friendship. 
Once  make  her  believe  that  I  have  gone  clean 
head  over  heels  into  a  mesalliance,  and  our  honey- 
moon here  is  assured.  I  wish  I  had  not  torment- 
ed her  about  Atlee.  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  I 
had  kept  my  impertinences  to  myself,  and  gone 
no  further  than  certain  dark  hints  about  what  I 
could  say  if  I  were  to  be  evil-minded.  What 
rare  wisdom  it  is  not  to  fire  away  one's  last  car- 
tridge !  I  suppose  it  is  too  late  now.  She'll  not 
forgive  me  that  disparagement  before  my  uncle 
— that  is,  if  there  be  any  thing  between  herself 
and  Atlee,  a  point  which  a  few  minutes  will  settle 
when  I  see  them  together.  It  would  not  be  very 
difficult  to  make  Atlee  regard  me  as  his  friend, 
and  as  one  ready  to  aid  him  in  this  same  ambi- 
tion. Of  course  he  is  prepared  to  see  in  me  the 
enemy  of  all  his  plans.  What  would  he  not  give, 
or  say,  or  do  to  find  me  his  aider  and  abettor  ? 
Shrewd  tactician  as  the  fellow  is,  he  will  know 
all  the  value  of  having  an  accomplice  within  the 
fortress  ;  and  it  would  be  exactly  from  a  man  like 
myself  he  might  be  disposed  to  expect  the  most 
resolute  opposition." 

He  thought  for  a  long  time  over  this.  He 
turned  it  over  and  over  in  his  mind,  canvassing 
all  the  various  benefits  any  line  of  action  might 
promise,  and  starting  every  doubt  or  objection 
he  could  imagine.  Nor  was  the  thought  ex- 
traneous to  his  calculations  that  in  forwarding 
Atlee's  suit  to  Maude  he  was  exacting  the  heavi- 
est "vendetta"  for  her  refusal  of  himself. 

"There  is  not  a  woman  in  Europe,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "less  fitted  to  encounter  small  means 
and  a  small  station — to  live  a  life  of  petty  econ- 
omies, and  be  the  daily  associate  of  a  snob! 

"What  the  fellow  may  become  at  the  end  of 
the  race,  what  places  he  may  win  after  years  of 
toil  and  jobbery,  I  neither  know  nor  care  !  She 
will  be  an  old  woman  by  that  time,  and  will  have 
had  space  enough  in  the  interval  to  mourn  over 
her  rejection  of  me.  I  shall  be  a  minister,  not 
impossibly  at  some  court  of  the  Continent.  At- 
lee, to  say  the  best,  an  Under-Secretary  of  State 
for  something,  or  a  Poor  Law  or  Education 
Chief.  There  will  be  just  enough  of  disparity  in 
our  stations  to  fill  her  woman's  heart  with  bitter- 
ness— the  bitterness  of  having  backed  the  wrong 
man ! 

"  The  unavailing  regrets  that  beset  us  for  not 
having  taken  the  left-hand  road  in  life  instead  of 
the  right  are  our  chief  mental  resources  after 


forty,  and  they  tell  me  that  we  men  only  know 
half  the  poignancy  of  these  miserable  recollec- 
tions. Women  have  a  special  adaptiveness  for 
this  kind  of  torture — would  seem  actually  to  rev- 
el in  it." 

He  turned  once  more  to  his  desk  and  to  the 
letter.  Somehow  he  could  make  nothing  of  it. 
All  the  dangers  that  he  desired  to  avoid  so  cramp- 
ed his  ingenuity  that  he  could  say  little  beyond 
platitudes ;  and  he  thought  with  terror  of  her 
who  was  to  read  them.  The  scornful  contempt 
with  which  she  would  treat  such  a  letter  was  all 
before  him,  and  he  snatched  up  the  paper  and 
tore  it  in  pieces. 

"  It  must  not  be  done  by  writing,"  cried  he  at 
last.  "Who  is  to  guess  for  which  of  the  fifty 
moods  of  such  a  woman  a  man's  letter  is  to  be 
composed  ?  What  you  could  say  now  you  dared 
not  have  written  half  an  hour  ago.  What  would 
have  gone  far  to  gain  her  love  yesterday,  to-day 
will  show  you  the  door !  It  is  only  by  consum- 
mate address  and  skill  she  can  be  approached  at 
all,  and,  without  her  look  and  bearing,  the  inflec- 
tions of  her  voice,  her  gestures,  her  'pose,'  to 
guide  you,  it  would  be  utter  rashness  to  risk  her 
humor." 

He  suddenly  bethought  himself  at  this  mo- 
ment that  he  had  many  things  to  do  in  Ireland 
ere  he  left  England.  He  had  tradesmen's  bills 
to  settle,  and  "  traps"  to  be  got  rid  of.  "  Traps" 
included  furniture  and  books,  and  horses  and 
horse-gear — details  which  at  first  he  had  hoped 
his  friend  Lockwood  would  have  taken  off  his 
hands ;  but  Lockwood  had  only  written  him 
word  that  a  Jew  broker  from  Liverpool  would 
give  him  forty  pounds  for  his  house  effects,  and 
as  for  the  "screws,"  there  was  nothing  but  an 
auction. 

Most  of  us  have  known  at  some  period  or  oth- 
er of  our  lives  what  it  is  to  suffer  from  the  pain- 
ful disparagement  our  chattels  undergo  when 
they  become  objects  of  sale ;  but  no  adverse  crit- 
icism of  your  bed  or  your  book-case,  your  otto- 
man or  your  arm-chair,  can  approach  the  sense 
of  pain  inflicted  by  the  impertinent  comments  on 
your  horse.  Every  imputed  blemish  is  a  distinct 
personality,  and  you  reject  the  insinuated  spavin 
or  the  suggested  splint  as  imputations  on  your 
honor  as  a  gentleman.  In  fact,  you  are  pushed 
into  the  pleasant  dilemma  of  either  being  igno- 
rant as  to  the  defects  of  your  beast,  or  willfully 
bent  on  an  act  of  palpable  dishonesty.  When 
we  remember  that  every  confession  a  man  makes 
of  his  unacquaintance  with  matters  "horsey"  is, 
in  English  acceptance,  a  count  in  the  indictment 
against  his  claim  to  be  thought  a  gentleman,  it 
is  not  surprising  that  there  will  be  men  more 
ready  to  hazard  their  characters  than  their  con- 
noisseurship. 

"I'll  go  over  myself  to  Ireland,"  said  he  at 
last ;   "  and  a  week  will  do  every  thing." 


CHAPTER  LXVIII. 

THOUGHTS    ON    MARRIAGE. 

Lock-wood  was  seated  at  his  fireside  in  hi- 
quarters,  the  Upper  Castle  Yard,  when  Walpole 
burst  in  upon  him  unexpectedly. 

"What!  you  here?"  cried  the  major. 
"  Have  you  the  courage  to  face  Ireland  again  ?" 


LORD  KTLGOBBIN. 


II  0 


'•  I  see  nothing  thai  ^  1  n m Kl  prevent  my  com- 
ing here.  Ireland  certainly  can  not  pretend  to 
lay  a  grievance  to  my  charge." 

•■  Maybe  not    Idon'i  understand  these  things. 

1  only   know  what   people  say  ill  the  clubs  and 

laugh  over  at  dinner-tables." 

"1  ran  not  affect  to  be  very  sensitive  as  to 
these  Celtic  criticisms,  and  I  shall  not  a>k  you 
to  recall  them." 

'■They  say  that  Danesbury  got  kicked  out  nil 
lor  your  blunders!" 

"Do  they?"  said  Walpole,  innocently. 

"Yes;  and  they  declare  that  if  old  Dnney 
wasn't  the  must  loyal  fellow  breathing,  he'd  have 
thrown  you  over,  ami  owned  that  tin-  whole  mess 
was  of  your  own  brewing,  and  that  he  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  it." 

••  Do  they,  indeed,  say  that?" 

•■That's  not  half  of  it,  for  they  have  a  story 
about  a  woman — some  woman  you  met  down  at 
Kilgobbin — who  made  you  sing  rebel  songs  and 
take  a  Fenian  pledge,  and  give  your  word  of 
honor  that  Donogan  should  be  let  escape." 

"  Is  that  all  ?" 

"Isn't  it  enough  ?  A  man  must  be  a  glutton 
for  tomfoolery  if  he  could  not  be  satistied  with 
that." 

"Perhaps  you  never  heard  that  the  chief  of 
abinet  took  a  very  different  view  of  my 
Irish  policy." 

"Irish  policy?"  cried  the  other,  with  lifted 
eyebrows. 

"I  said  Irish  policy,  and  repeat  the  words. 
Whatever  line  of  political  action  tends  to  bring 
legislation  into  more  perfect  harmony  with  the 
instincts  and  impulses  of  a  very  peculiar  people, 
it  is  no  presumption  to  call  a  policy." 

'•With  all  my  heart.  Do  you  mean  to  deal 
wi:h  that  old  Liverpool  rascal  for  the  furniture?" 

••  Hi-  offer  is  almost  an  insult." 

'•  Well,  you'll  be  gratified  to  know  he  retracts 
it.  He  says  now  he'll  only  give  £35 !  And  as 
for  the  screws,  Bobbidge,  of  the  Carbineers,  will 
take  them  both  for  £50." 

"  Why,  Lightfoot  alone  is  worth  the  money  !" 

•■  .Minus  the  sand-crack." 

"  I  deny  the  sand-crack.  She  was  pricked  in 
the  shoeing." 

"< >f  course!  I  never  knew  a  broken  knee  that 
wasn't  got  by  striking  the  manger,  nor  a  sand- 
crack  that  didn't  come  of  an  awkward  smith.'' 

"What  a  blessing  it  would  be  if  all  the  bad 
reputations  in  society  could  be  palliated  as  pleas- 
antly!" 

"Shall  I  tell  Bobbidge  you  take  his  offer? 
He  wants  an  answer  at  once." 

"My  dear  major,  don't  you  know  that  the  fel- 
low who  says  that  .-imply  means  to  say:  '  Don't 
be  to.,  sure  that  I  -hall  not  change  my  mind! 
Look  out  that  you  take  the  ball  at  the  hop !'  " 

••  Lucky  if  it  hops  at  all.'' 

"Is  that  your  experience  of  life?"  said  Wal- 
pole, inquiringly. 

••  It  is  one  of  them.     Will  you  take  £50  for 

"  Yes  ;  and  as  much  more  for  the  break  ami 
the   dog-cart.      I   want    every   rap   I   can    BCrape 

together,  Harry.     I'm  going  out  to  Guatemala." 

"  I  heard  that." 

"  Infernal  place;  at  least,  I  believe,  in  climate 
—  reptiles  —  fevers  —  assassination  —  it  stands 
without  a  rival." 


"So  they  tell  me." 

"It  was  the  only  thing  vacant:  and  they 
rather  affected  a  difficulty  about  giving  it." 

"So  they   do   when   they   send   a   man   to    the 

Gold  Coast;  ami  they  tell  the  newspapers  t" 

say  what  a  lucky  dog  lie  is." 

"lean  stand  all  that.  What  really  kill-  me 
is  giving  a  man  the  C.B.  when  he  is  just  booked 
for  some  home  of  yellow  lever." 

•'They  do  that   too."  gravely  observed  the 

Other,  who  was  beginning  to  feel  the  pace  Of  the 
conversation  rather  too  fast  for  him.  "Don't 
you  smoke?" 

"I'm  rather  reducing  myself  to  half  batta  in 
tobacco.     I've  thoughts  of  marrying." 

"  Don't  do  that." 

"Why?     It's  not  wrong." 

"No.  perhaps  not;  but  it's  stupid." 

"Come  now,  old  fellow,  life  out  there  in  the 
tropics  is  not  so  jolly  all  alone.  Alligators  are 
interesting  creatures,  and  cheetahs  are  pretty 
pets  ;  but  a  man  wants  a  little  companion-hip  of 
a  more  tender  kind  :  and  a  nice  girl  who  would 
!  link  her  fortunes  with  one's  own,  and  help  one 
through  the  sultry  hours,  is  no  bad  thing." 

"The  nice  girl  wouldn't  go  there." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  With  your  great 
knowledge  of  life,  you  must  know  that  there  has 
been  a  glut  in  '  the  nice-girl'  market  these  years 
back.  Prime  lots  are  sold  for  a  song  occasion- 
i  ally,  and  first-rate  samples  sent  as  far  as  Calcut- 
ta. The  truth  is,  the  fellow  who  looks  like  a 
real  buyer  may  have  the  pick  of  the  fair,  as  they 
call  it  here." 

"So  he  ought,"  growled  out  the  major. 

"The  speech  is  not  a  gallant  one.  You  are 
scarcely  complimentary  to  the  ladies.  Lock  wood." 

"It  was  you  who  talked  of  a  woman  like  a 
cow  or  a  sack  of  corn,  not  I." 

"I  employed  an  illustration  to  answer  one  of 
your  own  arguments." 

"Who  is  she  to  be?"  bluntly  asked  the  ma- 
jor. 

"  1 11  tell  you  whom  I  mean  to  ask,  for  I  have 
not  put  the  question  yet." 

A  long,  fine  whistle  expressed  the  other's  as- 
tonishment. "And  are  you  sure  she'll  sax- 
yes  ?" 

"I  have  no  other  assurance  than  the  convic- 
',  tion  that  a  woman  might  do  worse." 

"Humph!  perhaps  she  might.  I'm  not  quite 
certain  ;  but  who  is  she  to  be  ?" 

"Do  you  remember  a  visit  we  made  together 
to  a  certain  Kilgobbin  Castle?" 

"To  be  sure  I  do.      A  rum  old  ruin  it  was." 

"  Do  you  remember  two  young  ladies  we  mel 
there?" 

"  Perfectly.  Are  you  going  to  marry  both  of 
them?" 

"My  intention  is  to  propose  to  one.  and  I 
imagine  I  need  not  tell  you  which?" 

"Naturally,  the  Irish  girl.  She  saved  your 
life—" 

"  Pray  let  me  undeceive  you  in  a  double  er- 
ror. It  is  not  the  Iri-h  girl  ;  nor  did  she  save 
my  life." 

"  Perhaps  not  ;  but  she  risked  her  ow  n  to  gave 
yours.      You  said  so  yourself  at  the  time." 

"We'll  not  discuss  the  point  now.  I  hope  I 
feel  duly  grateful  for  the  young  lady's  heroism, 
though  it  is  not  exactly  my  intention  to  record 
my  gratitude  in  a  Bpeciol  lieen.-e." 


170 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"  A  very  equivocal  sort  of  repayment,"  grum- 
bled out  Lockwood. 

"You  are  epigrammatic  this  evening,  major." 

"  So,  then,  it's  the  Greek  you  mean  to  mar- 
ry ?" 

"It  is  the  Greek  I  mean  to  ask." 

"  All  right.  I  hope  she'll  take  you.  I  think, 
on  the  whole,  you  suit  each  other.  If  I  were  at 
all  disposed  to  that  sort  of  bondage,  I  don't  know 
a  girl  I'd  rather  risk  the  road  with  than  the  Irish 
cousin,  Miss  Kearney." 

"She  is  very  pretty,  exceedingly  obliging,  and 
has  most  winning  manners." 

"  She  is  good-tempered,  and  she  is  natural — 
the  two  best  things  a  woman  can  be." 

"  Why  not  come  down  along  with  me  and  try 
your  luck  ?" 

"When  do  you  go  ?" 

"By  the  10.30  train  to-morrow.  I  shall  ar- 
rive at  Moate  by  four  o'clock,  and  reach  the  Cas- 
tle to  dinner." 

"They  expect  you ?" 

"  Only  so  far  that  I  have  telegraphed  a  line  to 
say  I'm  going  down  to  bid  '  good-by'  before  I 
sail  for  Guatemala.  I  don't  suspect  they  know 
where  that  is,  but  it's  enough  when  they  under- 
stand it  is  far  away." 

"I'll  go  with  you." 

"Will  you  really?" 

"I  will.  I'll  not  say  on  such  an  errand  as 
your  own,  because  that  requires  a  second  thought 
or  two ;  but  I'll  reconnoitre,  Master  Cecil — I'll 
reconnoitre." 

"  I  suppose  you  know  there  is  no  money." 

"I  should  think  money  most  unlikely  in  such 
a  quarter,  and  it's  better  she  should  have  none 
than  a  small  fortune.  I'm  an  old  whist-player, 
and  when  I  play  dummy  there's  nothing  I  hate 
more  than  to  see  two  or  three  small  trumps  in 
my  partner's  hand." 

"  I  imagine  you'll  not  be  distressed  in  that 
way  here." 

"I've  got  enough  to  come  through  with — that 
is,  the  thing  can  be  done  if  there  be  no  extrava- 
gances." 

"Does  one  want  for  more?"  cried  Walpole, 
theatrically. 

"  I  don't  know  that.  If  it  were  only  ask  and 
have,  I  should  like  to  be  tempted." 

"I  have  no  such  ambition.  I  firmly  believe 
that  the  moderate  limits  a  man  sets  to  his  daily 
wants  constitute  the  real  liberty  of  his  intellect 
and  his  intellectual  nature." 

"Perhaps  I've  no  intellectual  nature,  then," 
growled  out  Lockwood,  "  for  I  know  how  I 
should  like  to  spend  fifteen  thousand  a  year.  I 
suppose  I  shall  have  to  live  on  as  many  hun- 
dreds." 

"It  can  be  done." 

"  Perhaps  it  may.     Have  another  weed  ?" 

"  No.  I  told  you  already  I  have  begun  a  to- 
bacco reformation." 

"Does  she  object  to  the  pipe?" 

"I  can  not  tell  you.  The  fact  is,  Lockwood, 
my  future  and  its  fortunes  are  just  as  uncertain 
as  your  own.  This  day  week  will  probably  have 
decided  the  destiny  of  each  of  us." 

"To  our  success,  then!"  cried  the  major,  fill- 
ing hoth  their  glasses. 

"  To  our  success  !"  said  Walpole,  as  he  drain- 
ed his,  and  placed  it  upside  down  on  the  ta- 
ble. 


CHAPTER  LXIX. 


A  T 


LGOBBIN     CASTLE. 

The  "Blue  Goat"  at  Moate  was  destined  once 
more  to  receive  the  same  travelers  whom  we  pre- 
sented to  our  readers  at  a  very  early  stage  of  this 
history. 

"  Not  much  change  here,"  cried  Lockwood,  as 
he  strode  into  the  little  sitting-room  and  sat  down. 
"I  miss  the  old  fellow's  picture,  that's  all." 

"Ah,  by-the-way,"  said  Walpole  to  the  land- 
lord, "you  had  my  lord  Kilgobbin's  portrait  up 
there  the  last  time  I  came  through  here. " 

"Yes  indeed,  Sir,"  said  the  man,  smooth- 
ing down  his  hair  and  looking  apologetically. 
"But  the  Goats  and  my  lord,  who  was  the 
Buck  Goat,  got  into  a  little  disagreement,  and 
they  sent  away  his  picture,  and  his  lordship 
retired  from  the  club,  and — and — that  was  the 
way  of  it. " 

"  A  heavy  blow  to  your  town,  I  take  it,"  said 
the  major,  as  he  poured  out  his  beer. 

"Well,  indeed,  your  honor,  I  won't  say  it 
was.  You  see,  Sir,  times  is  changed  in  Ireland. 
We  don't  care  as  much  as  we  used  about  the 
'neighboring  gentry,'  as  they  called  them  once; 
and  as  for  the  lord  there,  he  doesn't  spend  a 
hundred  a  year  in  Moate." 

"How  is  that?" 

"  They  get  what  they  want  by  rail  from  Dub- 
lin, your  honor,  and  he  might  as  well  not  be  here 
at  all." 

"Can  we  have  a  car  to  carry  us  over  to  the 
Castle  ?"  asked  Walpole,  who  did  not  care  to  hear 
more  of  local  grievances. 

"  Sure,  isn't  my  lord's  car  waiting  for  you 
j  since  two  o'clock!"  said  the  host,  spitefully,  for 
he  was  not  conciliated  by  a  courtesy  that  was  to 
lose  him  a  fifteen-shilling  fare.  ' '  Not  that  there's 
much  of  a  horse  between  the  shafts,  or  that  old 
Daly  himself  is  an  elegant  coachman,"  continued 
the  host;  "but  they're  ready  in  the  yard  when 
you  want  them." 

The  travelers  had  no  reason  to  delay  them  in 
their  present  quarters,  and,  taking  their  places  on 
the  car,  set  out  for  the  Castle. 

"I  scarcely  thought  when  I  last  drove  this 
road,"  said  Walpole,  "that  the  next  time  I  was 
to  come  should  be  on  such  an  errand  as  my  pres- 
ent one." 

"  Humph  !"  ejaculated  the  other.  "  Our  no- 
ble relative  that  is  to  be  does  not  shine  in  equi- 
page.    That  beast  is  dead  lame." 

"  If  we  had  our  deserts,  Lockwood,  we  should 
be  drawn  by  a  team  of  doves,  with  the  god  Cu- 
pid on  the  box. " 

"I'd  rather  have  two  posters  and  a  yellow 
post-chaise." 

A  drizzling  rain  that  now  began  to  fall  inter- 
rupted all  conversation,  and  each  sunk  back  into 
his  own  thoughts  for  the  rest  of  the  way. 

Lord  Kilgobbin,  with  his  daughter  at  his  side, 
watched  the  car  from  the  terrace  of  the  Castle  as 
it  slowly  wound  its  way  along  the  bog  road. 

"  As  well  as  I  can  see,  Kate,  there  is  a  man  on 
each  side  of  the  car,"  said  Kearney,  as  he  hand- 
j  ed  his  field-glass  to  his  daughter. 

"  Yes,  papa,  I  see  there  are  two  travelers." 

"And  I  don't  well  know  why  there  should  be 
'  even  one  !  There  was  no  such  great  friendship 
between  us  that  he  need  come  all  this  way  to  bid 
I  us  good-by." 


LOUD   KIUiOBBIN. 


171 


"  Considering  the  mishap  that  befell  him  here, 
it  is  a  mark  of  good  feeling  to  desire  to  sec  us  nil 
once  marc — don'l  you  think  so?" 

"  Maybe  so."  muttered  be,  drearily.  "  At 
all  events,  it's  not  a  pleasant  house  bes  coming 
to.  Voting  O'Shea  there  up  stairs,  just  out  of  a 
fever;  and  old  .Miss  Betty,  that  may  arrive  any 
moment." 

"  There's  no  question  of  that.  She  says  it 
would  be  ten  days  or  a  fortnight  before  she  is 
equal  to  the  journey." 

•'  Heaven  grant  it  .'—hem — I  mean  that  she'll 
be  strong  enough  for  it  by  that  time.  At  all 
events,  if  it  is  the  same  as  to  our  fine  friend  Mr. 
Walpole,  1  wish  he'd  have  taken  his  leave  of  us 
in  a  letter." 

"  It  is  something  new,  papa,  to  see  you  so  in- 
hospitable." 

"But  I  am  not  inhospitable,  Kitty.  Show 
me  the  good  fellow  that  woidd  like  to  pass  an 
evening  with  me  and  think  me  good  company, 
and  he  shall  have  the  best  saddle  of  mutton  and 
the  raciest  bottle  of  claret  in  the  house.  But  it's 
only  mock-hospitality  to  be  entertaining  the  man  | 
that  only  comes  out  of  courtesy,  and  just  stays  as 
long  as  good  manners  oblige  him." 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  should  undervalue  po- 
liteness, especially  when  it  takes  the  shape  of 
recognition." 

"  Well,  be  it  so,"  sighed  he,  almost  drearily. 
"If  the  young  gentleman  is  so  warmly  attached 
to  us  all  that  he  can  not  tear  himself  away  till  he 
has  embraced  us,  I  suppose  there's  no  help  for  it. 
Where  is  Nina?" 

"  She  was  reading  to  Gorman  when  I  saw  her. 
She  had  just  relieved  Dick,  who  has  gone  out 
for  a  walk." 

"A  jolly  house  for  a  visitor  to  come  to!" 
cried  he,  sarcastically. 

"  We  are  not  very  gay  or  lively,  it  is  true, 
papa ;  but  it  is  not  unlikely  that  the  spirit  in 
which  our  guest  comes  here  will  not  need  much 
jollity." 

"  I  don't  take  it  as  a  kindness  for  a  man  to 
bring  me  his  depression  and  his  low  spirits.  I've 
always  more  of  my  own  than  I  know  what  to  do 
with.     Two  sorrows  never  made  a  joy,  Kitty." 

"There!  they  are  lighting  the  lamps,"  cried 
she.  suddenly.  "I  don't  think  they  can  be  more 
than  three  miles  away." 

"Have  you  rooms  ready,  if  there  be  two 
coming?" 

"Yes,  papa,  Mr.  Walpole  will  have  his  old 
quarters;  and  the  stag  room  is  in  readiness,  if 
there  be  another  guest. " 

"  I'd  like  to  have  a  house  as  big  as  the  royal 
barracks,  and  every  room  of  it  occupied!"  cried 
Kearney,  with  a  mellow  ring  in  his  voice. 
"They  talk  of  society  and  pleasant  company; 
hut  for  real  enjoyment  there's  nothing  to  com- 
pare with  what  a  man  has  under  his  own  roof! 
No  claret  ever  taste-  so  good  as  the  decanter  he 
circulates  himself.  I  was  low  enough  half  an 
hour  ago,  and  now  the  mere  thought  of  a  couple 
of  fellows  to  dine  with  me  cheers  me  up  and 
warms  my  heart  !  I'll  ^ivc  them  the  green  seal, 
Kitty:  and  I  don't  know  that  there's  another 
house  in  the  county  could  put  a  bottle  of  '46 
claret  before  them." 

"So  you  shall,  papa.  I'll  go  to  the  cellar 
myself  and  fetch  it." 

Kearney  hastened  to  make  the  moderate  toilet 


he  called  dressing  for  dinner,  and  was  only  tin 
ished  when  his  old  servant,  informed  him  that 
two  gentlemen  hail  arrived  and  gone  up  to  their 
rooms. 

"I  wish  it  was  two  do/.en  had  come."  said 
Kearney,  as  he  descended  to  the  drawing-room. 
"It  is  Major  Lockwood,  papa,"  cried  Kate, 
entering  and  drawing  him  into  a  window  recess  ; 
"the  Major  Lockwood  that  was  here  before  has 
come  with  Mr.  Walpole.  I  met  him  in  the  hall 
1  while  I  had  the  basket  with  the  wine  in  my  hand, 
and  he  was  so  cordial  and  glad  to  see  mc  you 
can  not  think." 

"  He  knew  that  green  wax,  Kitty.  He  tasted 
that  '  bin'  when  be  was  here  last." 

"Perhaps  so;  but  he  certainly  seemed  over- 
joyed at  something." 

"Let  me  see,"  muttered  be  :  "wasn't  he  the 
big  fellow  with  the  long  mustaches?" 

"  A  tall,  very  good-looking  man ;  dark  as  a 
Spaniard,  and  not  unlike  one." 

"To  be  sure,  to  be  sure.  I  remember  him 
well.  He  was  a  capital  shot  with  the  pistol,  and 
he  liked  his  wine.  By-the-way,  Nina  did  not 
take  to  him." 

"How  do  you  remember  that,  papa?"  said 
she,  archly. 

"If  I  don't  mistake,  she  told  me  so,  or  she 
called  him  a  brute,  or  a  savage,  or  some  one  of 
those  things  a  man  is  sure  to  be  when  a  woman 
discovers  he  will  not  be  her  slave. " 

Nina  entering  at  the  moment  cut  short  all  re- 
joinder, and  Kearney  came  forward  to  meet  her 
with  his  hand  out. 

"  Shake  out  your  lower  courses,  and  let  rat- 
look  at  you,"  cried  he.  as  he  walked  round  her 
admiringly.  "Upon  my  oath,  it's  more  beauti- 
ful than  ever  you  are !  I  can  guess  what  a  fate 
is  reserved  for  those  dandies  from  Dublin." 

"Do  you  like  my  dress,  Sir?  Is  it  becom- 
ing?" asked  she. 

"  Becoming  it  is ;  but  I'm  not  sure  whether  I 
like  it." 

"  And  how  is  that,  Sir?" 
"  I  don't  see  how,  with  all  that  floating  gauze 
and  swelling  lace,  a  man  is  to  get  an  arm  round 
you  at  all — " 

"  I  can  not  perceive  the  necessity,  Sir;"  and  the 
insolent  toss  of  her  head,  more  forcibly  even  than 
her  words,  resented  such  a  possibility. 


CHAPTER  LXX. 

AT  LEE'S     RETURN, 

WHEN  Atlee  arrived  at  Bruton  Street  the  wel- 
come that  met  him  was  almost  cordial.  Lord 
Danesbury — not  very  demonstrative  at  any  time 
— received  him  with  warmth,  and  Lady  Maude 
gave  him  her  hand  with  a  sort  of  significant  cor- 
diality that  overwhelmed  him  with  delight.  The 
climax  of  his  enjoyment  was,  however,  reached 
when    Lord    Daneshury   said   to    him,   "We  are 

glad  to  see  you  at  home  again." 

This  speech  sunk  deep  into  his  heart,  and  he 
never  wearied  of  repeating  it  over  and  over  to 
himself.  When  he  reached  hi-  mom,  where  hi- 
luggage  had  already  preceded  him.  and  found  hi- 
dressing  articles  laid  out.  and  all  the  little  care- 
and  attentions  which  well  trained  servants  under- 
stand awaiting  him.  he  muttered,  with  a  tremu- 


172 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


bus  sort  of  ecstasy,  "  This  is  a  very  glorious  way 
to  come  home!" 

The  rich  furniture  of  the  room,  the  many  ap- 
pliances of  luxury  and  ease  around  him,  the 
sense  of  rest  and  quiet,  so  delightful  after  a  jour- 
ney, all  appealed  to  him  as  he  threw  himself 
into  a  deeply  cushioned  chair.  He  cried  aloud, 
"Home  !  home  !  Is  this  indeed  home  ?  What 
a  different  thing  from  that  mean  life  of  privation 
and  penury  I  have  always  been  associating  with 
this  word — from  that  perpetual  struggle  with 
debt — the  miserable  conflict  that  went  on  through 
every  day,  till  not  an  action,  not  a  thought,  re- 
mained untinctured  with  money,  and,  if  a  mo- 
mentary pleasure  crossed  the  path,  the  cost  of  it 
was  certain  to  tarnish  all  the  enjoyment !  Such 
was  the  only  home  I  have  ever  known,  or,  in- 
deed, imagined." 

It  is  said  that  the  men  who  have  emerged 
from  very  humble  conditions  in  life,  and  occupy 
places  of  eminence  or  promise,  are  less  overjoyed 
at  this  change  of  fortune  than  impressed  with  a 
kind  of  resentment  toward  the  destiny  that  once 
had  subjected  them  to  privation.  Their  feeling  is 
not  so  much  joy  at  the  present  as  discontent  with 
the  past. 

"  Why  was  I  not  born  to  all  this?"  cried  At- 
lee,  indignantly.  "  What  is  there  in  me,  or  in 
my  nature,  that  this  should  be  a  usurpation? 
Why  was  I  not  schooled  at  Eton,  and  trained  at 
Oxford?  Why  was  I  not  bred  up  among  the 
men  whose  competitor  I  shall  soon  find  myself? 
Why  have  I  not  their  ways,  their  instincts,  their 
watch-words,  their  pastimes,  and  even  their  prej- 
udices, as  parts  of  my  very  nature?  Why  am 
I  to  learn  these  late  in  life,  as  a  man  learns  a  new 
language,  and  never  fully  catches  the  sounds  or 
the  niceties?  Is  there  any  competitorship  I 
should  flinch  from,  any  rivalry  I  should  fear,  if 
I  had  but  started  fair  in  the  race  ?" 

This  sense  of  having  been  hardly  treated  by 
fortune  at  the  outset  marred  much  of  his  present 
enjoyment,  accompanied  as  it  was  by  a  misgiv- 
ing that,  do  what  he  might,  that  early  inferiority 
would  cling  to  him,  like  some  rag  of  a  garment 
that  he  must  wear  over  all  his  "braverie,"  pro- 
claiming as  it  did  to  the  world,  "This  is  from 
what  I  sprung  originally." 

It  was  not  by  any  exercise  of  vanity  that  Atlee 
knew  he  talked  better,  knew  more,  was  wittier 
and  more  ready-witted  than  the  majority  of  men 
of  his  age  and  standing.  The  consciousness 
that  he  could  do  scores  of  things  they  could  not 
do  was  not  enough,  tarnished  as  it  was  by  a  mis- 
giving that,  by  some  secret  mystery  of  breeding, 
some  freemasonry  of  fashion,  he  was  not  one  of 
them,  and  that  this  awkward  fact  was  suspend- 
ed over  him  for  life,  to  arrest  his  course  in  the 
hour  of  success,  and  balk  him  at  the  very  mo- 
ment of  victory. 

"Till  a  man's  adoption  among  them  is  rati- 
fied by  a  marriage  he  is  not  safe,"  muttered  he. 
"  Till  the  fate  and  future  of  one  of  their  own  is 
embarked  in  the  same  boat  with  himself,  they'll 
not  grieve  over  his  shipwreck." 

Could  he  but  call  Lady  Maude  his  wife ! 
Was  this  possible  ?  There  were  classes  in  which 
affections  went  for  much,  where  there  was  such  a 
thing  as  engaging  these  same  affections,  and  act- 
ually pledging  all  hope  of  happiness  in  life  on  the 
faith  of  such  engagements.  These,  it  is  true,  were 
the  sentiments  that  prevailed  in  humbler  walks  of 


life,  among  those  lowly  born  people  whose  births 
and  marriages  were  not  chronicled  in  gilt-bound 
volumes.  The  Lady  Maudes  of  the  world,  what- 
ever imprudences  they  might  permit  themselves, 
certainly  never  "fell  in  love."  Condition  and 
place  in  the  world  were  far  too  serious  things  to 
be  made  the  sport  of  sentiment.  Love  was  a 
very  proper  thing  in  three-volume  novels,  and 
Mr.  Mudie  drove  a  roaring  trade  in  it ;  but  in 
the  well-bred  world,  immersed  in  all  its  engage- 
ments, triple-deep  in  its  projects  and  promises 
for  pleasure,  where  was  the  time,  where  the  op- 
portunity, for  this  pleasant  fooling?  That  lux- 
urious selfishness,  in  which  people  delight  to 
plan  a  future  life,  and  agree  to  think  that  they 
have  in  themselves  what  can  confront  narrow 
fortune  and  difficulty,  these  had  no  place  in  the 
lives  of  persons  of  fashion  !  In  that  coquetry  of 
admiration  and  flattery  which,  in  the  language  of 
slang,  is  called  spooning,  young  persons  occa- 
sionally got  so  far  acquainted  that  they  agreed  to 
be  married,  pretty  much  as  they  agreed  to  waltz 
or  to  polka  together ;  but  it  was  always  with  the 
distinct  understanding  that  they  were  doing  what 
mammas  would  approve  of,  and  family  solicitors 
of  good  conscience  could  ratify.  No  tyrannical 
sentimentality,  no  uncontrollable  gush  of  sym- 
pathy, no  irresistible  convictions  about  all"  fu- 
ture happiness  being  dependent  on  one  issue, 
overbore  these  natures,  and  made  them  insensi- 
ble to  title  and  rank  and  station  and  settlements. 

In  one  word,  Atlee,  after  due  consideration, 
satisfied  his  mind  that,  though  a  man  might 
gain  the  affections  of  the  doctor's  daughter  or 
the  squire's  niece,  and  so  establish  himself  as  an 
element  of  her  happiness  that  friends  would  over- 
look all  differences  of  fortune  and  try  to  make 
some  sort  of  compromise  with  fate,  all  these  were 
unsuited  to  the  sphere  in  which  Lady  Maude 
moved.  It  was,  indeed,  a  realm  where  this 
coinage  did  not  circulate.  To  enable  him  to  ad- 
dress her  with  any  prospect  of  success,  he  should 
be  able  to  show — ay,  and  to  show  argumenta- 
tively — that  she  was,  in  listening  to  him,  about 
to  do  something  eminently  prudent  and  worldly- 
wise.  She  must,  in  short,  be  in  a  position  to 
show  her  friends  and  "society"  that  she  had  not 
committed  herself  to  any  thing  willful  or  foolish 
— had  not  been  misled  by  a  sentiment  or  betray- 
ed by  a  sympathy ;  and  that  the  well-bred  ques- 
tioner who  inquired,  "  Why  did  she  marry  At- 
lee?" should  be  met  by  an  answer  satisfactory 
and  convincing. 

In  the  various  ways  he  canvassed  the  question 
and  revolved  it  with  himself  there  was  one  con- 
sideration which,  if  I  were  at  all  concerned  for 
his  character  for  gallantry.  I  should  be  reluctant 
to  reveal,  but,  as  I  feel  little  interest  on  this 
score,  I  am  free  to  own  was  this :  he  remem- 
bered that  as  Lady  Maude  was  no  longer  in  her 
first  youth,  there  was  reason  to  suppose  she 
might  listen  to  addresses  now  which,  some  years 
ago,  would  have  met  scant  favor  in  her  eyes. 

In  the  matrimonial  Lloyd's,  if  there  were  such 
a  body,  she  would  not  have  figured  A.  No.  1, 
and  the  risks  of  entering  the  conjugal  state  have 
probably  called  for  an  extra  premium.  Atlee 
attached  great  importance  to  this  fact ;  but  it 
was  not  the  less  a  matter  which  demanded  the 
greatest  delicacy  of  treatment.  He  must  know 
it,  and  he  must  not  know  it.  He  must  see  that 
she  had  been  the  belle  of  manv  seasons,  and  he 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


17.'. 


in  11  ~t  pretend  to  regard  her  a>  fresli  to  the  ways 
of  life,  and  now  to  society.  He  trusted  a  good 
ileal  to  his  tact  to  do  this,  for,  while  insinuating 
in  her  the  possible  future  of  Buch  a  man  as  him- 
self, the  high  place,  and  the  greal  rewards  which, 
in  all  likelihood,  awaited  him,  there  would  come 

an  opportune  moment  to  su^^rest  that  to  any  one 

less  gifted,  less  eonversanl  with  knowledge  of  lite 

than  herself,  such  reasonings  couKl  not  he  ad- 
Iressed. 

•'  It  could  never  he,"  cried  he.  aloud,  "  to  some 
miss  fresh  from  the  school-room  and  the  govern- 
--  i  could  dare  to  talk  a  language  only  under- 
stood by  those  who  have  been  conversant  with 
high  questions,  and  moved  in  the  society  of 
thoughtful  talkers." 

There  is  no  quality  so  dangerous  to  eulogize 
as  experience,  and  Atlee  thought  long  over  this. 
One  determination  or  another  must  speedily  he 
come  to.  If  there  was  no  likelihood  of  success 
witli  Lady  Maude,  he  must  not  lose  his  chances 
with  the  Greek  girl.  The  sum.  whatever  it  might 
i.e.  which  her  father  should  obtain  for  his  secret 
papers,  would  constitute  a  very  respectable  por- 
tion. "  I  have  a  stronger  reason  to  fight  for  lib- 
eral terms,"  thought  he,  '"than  the  Prince  Kos- 
ralergi  imagines,  and.  fortunately,  that  fine  pa- 
rental trait,  that  noble  desire  to  make  a  provision 
for  his  child,  stands  out  so  clearly  in  my  brief,  I 
should  be  a  sorry  advocate  if  f  could  not  em- 
pl  ry  it." 

In  the  few  words  that  passed  between  Lord 
Danesbury  and  himself  on  arriving  he  learned 
that  there  was  but  little  chance  of  his  winning 
his  election  fur  the  borough.  Indeed,  he  bore 
the  disappointment  jauntily  and  good-humoredly. 
That  great  philosophy  of  not  attaching  too  much 
importance  to  anyone  thing  in  life  sustained  him 
in  every  venture.  "  Bet  on  the  field — never  back 
the  favorite."  was  his  formula  for  inculcating  the 
wisdom  of  trusting  to  the  general  game  of  life, 
rather  than  to  any  particular  emergency.  "  Back 
the  field,"  he  would  say,  "and  you  must  be  un- 
lucky or  you'll  come  right  in  the  long-run.*' 

They  dined  that  day  alone— that  is,  they  were 
but  three  at  table;  and  Atlee  enjoyed  the  un- 
speakable pleasure  of  hearing  them  talk  with  the 
freedom  and  unconstraint  people  only  indulge  in 
when  "at  home."  Lord  Danesbury  discussed 
confidential  questions  of  political  importance; 
told  how  his  colleagues  agreed  in  this,  or  differ- 
ed on  that ;  adverted  to  the  nice  points  of  temper- 
ament, which  made  one  man  hopeful  and  that 
despondent  or  distrustful;  he  exposed  the 
difficulties  they  had  to  meet  in  the  Commons, 
and  where  the  Upper  Ibaise  was  intractable; 
and  even  went  so  far  in  his  confidences  as  to  ad- 
mit where  the  criticisms  of  the  Press  were  felt  to 
ba  damaging  to  the  administration. 

"The  real  danger  of  ridicule,"  said  he,  "is 
not  the  pungency  of  the  satire,  it  is  the  facility 
with  which  it  is  remembered  and  circulated". 
The  man  who  reads  the  Btrong  leader  in  the 
Times  may  have  some  general  impression  of  be- 
nvinced,  but  be  can  not  repeat  its  argu- 
ments or  quote  its  expressions.  The  pasquin- 
ade or  the  squib  gets  a  hold  on  the  mind,  and 
its  very  drollery  will  insure  its  being  retained 
there. " 

Atlee  was  not  a  little  gratified  to  hear  that  this 
opinion  was  delivered  a  pr<i]t"s  to  a  -hurt  paper 
of  his  own,  whose  witrv  Bftrcasms  on  t lie  Cabin- 


let  were  exciting  great  amusement  in  town,  and 
much  curiosity  as  to  the  writer. 

"He  has  not  Beetl  'The  Whitebait  Dinner 
yet."  said  Lady  Mamie;  "the  cleverest  jeu 
d'esprit  of  the  day." 

"Ay,  or  of  any  day."  broke  in  Lord  Danes- 
bury. "  Even  the  Anti-Jacobin  has  nothing  bet- 
ter. The  notion  is  this.  The  devil  ha]. pen.  t, 
be  taking  a  holiday,  and  he  is  in  town  jus)  at  the 
time  of  the  Ministerial  dinner,  and.  bearing  that 
he  is  at  Claridge's.  the  Cabinet,  ashamed  at  the 
little  attention  bestowed  on  a  crowned  head,  ask 
him  down  to  Greenwich.  He  accepts,  and  to 
kill  an  hour — 

"'He  strolled  down,  of  course, 

To  the   Parliament    House, 

And  heard  how  England  stood, 
As  she  lias  since  the  Flood, 
Without  ally  or  friend  to  assist  her. 

But.  whi'le  every  persuasion 

Was  full  of  invasion, 

From  Russian  or  Prussian, 

Yet  the  only  discussion 
Was,  how  should  a  gentleman  marry  his  sister.' " 

"Can  you  remember  any  more  of  it,  my  lord?' 

asked  Atlee,  on  whose  table  at  that  moment  were 
lying  the  proof-sheets  of  the  production. 

"Mamie  has  it  all  somewhere.  You  must 
find  it  for  him,  and  let  him  guess  the  writer — if 
he  can." 

"  What  do  the  clubs  say?"  asked  Atlee. 

"  I  think  they  are  divided  between  Orlop  and 
Bouverie.  I'm  told  that  the  Garrick  people  say 
it's  Sankey.  a  young  fellow  in  F.  (). " 

"You  should  see  Aunt  Jerningham  about  it. 
Mr.  Atlee — her  eagerness  is  driving  her  half 
mad." 

"Take  him  out  to  'Lebanon'  on  Sunday." 
said  my  lord  ;  and  Lady  Maude  agreed  with  a 
charming  grace  and  courtesy,  adding,  as  she  left 
the  room,  "So  remember  you  are  engaged  for 
Sunday."  Atlee  bowed  as  he  held  the  door  ope;. 
for  her  to  pass  out,  and  threw  into  his  glance 
what  he  desired  might  mean  homage  and  eternal 
devotion. 

"  Now  then  for  a  little  quiet  confab,"  said  my 
lord.  "Let  me  hear  what  you  meant  by  your 
!  telegram.  All  I  could  make  out  was  that  you 
found  our  man." 

"  Yes ;  I  found  him,  and  passed  several  hours 
in  his  company." 

"  Was  the  fellow  very  much  out  at  elbows,  as 
j  usual  ?" 

"  No,  my  lord — thriving,  and  likely  to  thrive. 
He  has  just  been  named  Envoy  to  the  Ottoman 
Court." 

"  Bah!"  was  all  the  reply  his  incredulity  could 
permit. 

"  True.  I  assure  you.  Such  is  the  estimation 
he  is  held  in  at  Athens,  the  Greeks  declare  he 

has  not  bis  equal.      You  are  aware  that  his  11:1110 

is  Speridion  Kostalergi,  and  he  claims  to  !" 
Prince  of  Delos." 

"With  all  my  heart.  Our  Hellenic  friends 
never  quarrel  over  their  nobility.  There  -or  ti 
ties  and  to  spare  for  every  one.  Will  he  give  us 
our  papers '-" 

"  Yes  ;  but  not  without  1 1  i ,lt  1 1  terms.  II.-  de- 
clare-, in  feet,  my  lord,  that  you  can  110  more  r<- 
turn  to  the  Bosphorus  without  I  an,  than  he  can 
go  there  without  you." 

'•  I-  the  fellow  insolent  enough  to  take  this 
ground  ?" 


174 


LORD  KILGOBBIX. 


"  That  is  he.  In  fact,  he  presumes  to  talk  as 
your  lordship's  colleague,  and  hints  at  the  sever- 
al points  in  which  you  may  act  in  concert." 

"  It  is  very  Greek  all  this." 

"  His  terms  are  ten  thousand  pounds  in  cash, 
and — " 

"  There,  there,  that  will  do.  Why  not  fifty 
— why  not  a  hundred  thousand  ?" 

"  He  affects  a  desire  to  be  moderate,  my  lord." 

"I  hope  you  withdrew  at  once  after  such  a 
proposal  ?  I  trust  you  did  not  prolong  the  in- 
terview a  moment  longer  ?" 

"I  arose,  indeed,  and  declared  that  the  mere 
mention  of  such  terms  was  like  a  refusal  to  treat 
at  all." 

"And  you  retired?" 

"  I  gained  the  door,  when  he  detained  me. 
He  has,  I  must  admit,  a  marvelous  plausibility, 
for,  though  at  first  he  seemed  to  rely  on  the  all- 
importance  of  these  documents  to  your  lordship, 
how  far  they  would  compromise  you  in  the  past 
and  impede  you  for  the  future ;  how  they  would 
impair  your  influence,  and  excite  the  animosity 
of  many  who  were  freely  canvassed  and  discuss- 
ed in  them — yet  he  abandoned  all  that  at  the  end 
of  our  interview,  and  restricted  himself  to  the 
plea  that  the  sum,  if  a  large  one,  could  not  be  a 
serious  difficulty  to  a  great  English  noble,  and 
would  be  the  crowning  fortune  of  a  poor  Greek 
gentleman,  who  merely  desired  to  secure  a  mar- 
riage portion  for  his  only  daughter." 

"And  you  believed  this?" 

"I  so  far  believed  him  that  I  have  his  pledge 
in  writing  that,  when  he  has  your  lordship's  as- 
surance that  you  will  comply  with  his  terms — 
and  he  only  asks  that  much — he  will  deposit  the 
papers  in  the  hands  of  the  minister  at  Athens, 
and  constitute  your  lordship  the  trustee  of  the 
amount  in  favor  of  his  daughter,  the  sum  only  to 
be  paid  on  her  marriage." 

"How  can  it  possibly  concern  me  that  he  has 
a  daughter,  or  why  should  I  accept  such  a 
trust  ?" 

"The  proposition  had  no  other  meaning  than 
to  guarantee  the  good  faith  on  which  his  demand 
is  made." 

' '  I  don't  believe  in  the  daughter. " 

"That  is,  that  there  is  one?" 

"  No.  I  am  persuaded  that  she  has  no  exist- 
ence. It  is  some  question  of  a  mistress  or  a  de- 
pendent ;  and,  if  so,  the  sentimentality,  which 
would  seem  to  have  appealed  so  forcibly  to  you, 
fails  at  once." 

"  That  is  quite  true,  my  lord  ;  and  I  can  not 
pretend  to  deny  the  weakness  you  accuse  me  of. 
There  may  be  no  daughter  in  the  question." 

"Ah!  You  begin  to  perceive  now  that  you 
surrendered  your  convictions  too  easily,  Atlee. 
You  failed  in  that  element  of  '  restless  distrust' 
that  Talleyrand  used  to  call  the  temper  of  the 
diplomatist." 

"It  is  not  the  first  time  I  have  had  to  feel  I 
am  your  lordship's  inferior." 

"  My  education  was  not  made  in  a  day,  At- 
lee. It  need  be  no  discouragement  to  you  that 
you  are  not  as  long-sighted  as  I  am.  No,  no  ; 
rely  upon  it,  there  is  no  daughter  in  the  case." 

"With  that  conviction,  my  lord,  what  is  eas- 
ier than  to  make  your  adhesion  to  his  terms  con- 
ditional on  his  truth  ?  You  agree,  if  his  state- 
ment be  in  all  respects  verified." 

"Which  implies  that  it  is  of  the  least  conse- 


quence to  me  whether  the  fellow  has  a  daughter 
or  not  ?" 

"it  is  so  only  as  the  guarantee  of  the  man's 
veracity. " 

"  And  shall  I  give  ten  thousand  pounds  to  test 
thatf" 

' '  No,  my  lord ;  but  to  repossess  yourself  of 
what,  in  very  doubtful  hands,  might  prove  a 
great  scandal  and  a  great  disaster." 

"Ten  thousand  pounds!  ten  thousand  pounds!" 

"Why  not  eight — perhaps  five?  I  have  not 
your  lordship's  great  knowledge  to  guide  me,  and 
I  can  not  tell  when  these  men  really  mean  to 
maintain  their  ground.  From  my  own  very 
meagre  experiences  I  should  say  lie  was  not  a 
very  tractable  individual.  He  sees  some  prom- 
ise of  better  fortune  before  him,  and  like  a  gen- 
uine gambler — as  I  hear  he  is — he  determines  to 
back  his  luck. " 

"  Ten  thousand  pounds !"  muttered  the  other, 
below  his  breath. 

"As  regards  the  money,  my  lord,  I  take  it 
that  these  same  papers  were  documents  which 
more  or  less  concerned  the  public  service — they 
were  in  no  sense  personal,  although  meant  to  be 
private ;  and  although  in  my  ignorance  I  may  be 
mistaken,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  fund  devoted 
to  secret  services  could  not  be  more  fittingly  ap- 
propriated than  in  acquiring  documents  whose 
publicity  could  prove  a  national  injury." 

"  Totally  wrong — utterly  wrong.  The  money 
could  never  be  paid  on  such  a  pretense — the  '  Of- 
fice' would  not  sanction — no  minister  would  dare 
to  advise  it." 

"Then  I  come  back  to  my  original  suggestion. 
I  should  give  a  conditional  acceptance,  and  treat 
for  a  reduction  of  the  amount." 

"  You  would  say  five  ?" 

"I  opine,  my  lord,  eight  would  have  more 
chance  of  success." 

"You  are  a  warm  advocate  for  your  client," 
said  his  lordship,  laughing ;  and  though  the  shot 
was  a  merely  random  one,  it  went  so  true  to 
the  mark  that  Atlee  flushed  up  and  became 
crimson  all  over.  "Don't  mistake  me,  Atlee," 
said  his  lordship,  in  a  kindly  tone.  "I  know 
thoroughly  how  my  interests,  and  only  mine,  have 
any  claim  on  your  attention.  This  Greek  fellow 
must  be  less  than  nothing  to  you.  Tell  me  now 
frankly,  do  you  believe  one  word  he  has  told  you  ? 
Is  he  really  named  as  minister  to  Turkey  ?" 

"That  much  I  can  answer  for — he  is." 

"What  of  the  daughter — is  there  a  daughter?" 

"  I  suspect  there  may  be.  However,  the  mat- 
ter admits  of  an  easy  proof.  He  has  given  me 
names  and  addresses  in  Ireland  of  relatives  with 
whom  she  is  living.  Now  I  am  thoroughly  con- 
versant with  Ireland,  and,  by  the  indications  in 
my  power,  I  can  pledge  myself  to  learn  all,  not 
only  about  the  existence  of  this  person,  but  of 
such  family  circumstances  as  might  serve  to 
guide  you  in  your  resolve.  Time  is  what  is  most 
to  be  thought  of  here.  Kostalergi  requires  a 
prompt  answer — first  of  all,  your  assurance  that 
you  will  support  his  claim  to  be  received  by  the 
Sultan.  Well,  my  lord,  if  you  refuse,  Moura- 
vieff  will  do  it.  You  know  better  than  me  how 
impolitic  it  might  be  to  throw  these  Turks  more 
into  Russian  influence — " 

"Never  mind  that,  Atlee.  Don't  distress 
yourself  about  the  political  aspect  of  the  ques- 
tion." 


LOUD  KILGOBBIN. 


17.'. 


■•1  promised  a  telegraphic  lino  to  Bay  would 
you  or  would  you  not  sustain  his  Domination. 
h  was  to  be  yes  or  no— nol  more." 

••Say  yes.  I'll  not  split  hairs  about  what 
Greek  best  represents  liis  nation.     Say  yes." 

••1  am  Bure,  my  lord,  you  do  wisely.  He  is 
evidently  a  man  of  ability,  and,  I  suspect,  not 
morally  much  worse  than  his  countrymen  in 
general." 

"Say  yes;  and  then" — he  mused  for  some 
minutes  before  he  continued — "and  then  run 
over  to  Ireland  ;  learn  something,  if  you  can,  of 
this  girl,  with  whom  she  is  staying,  in  what  po- 
sition, what  guarantees,  if  any,  could  lie  had  for 
the  due  employment  and  destination  of  a  sum  of 
money,  in  the  event  of  our  agreeing  to  pay  it. 
.Mind,  it  is  simply  as  a  gauge  of  the  fellow's 
veracity  that  this  story  has  any  value  for  us. 
Daughter  or  no  daughter  is  not  of  any  moment 
to  me ;  but  I  want  to  test  the  problem — can  he 
tell  one  word  of  truth  about  any  thing  ?  You  are 
shrewd  enough  to  see  the  bearing  of  this  narra- 
tive on  all  he  has  told  you — where  it  sustains, 
where  it  accuses  him." 

"Shall  I  set  out  at  once,  my  lord  ?" 

••No.  Next  week  will  do.  We'll  leave  him 
to  ruminate  over  your  telegram.  That  will 
show  him  we  have  entertained  his  project;  and 
he  is  too  practiced  a  hand  not  to  know  the  value 
of  an  opened  negotiation.  Cradoek  and  Mel- 
lish,  and  one  or  two  more,  wish  to  talk  with  you 
about  Turkey.  Graydon,  too,  has  some  ques- 
tions to  ask  you  about  Suez.  They  dine  here  on 
Monday.  Tuesday  we  are  to  have  the  Hargraves 
and  Lord  Ma-ham.  and  a  couple  of  Under-Sec- 
retaries of  State ;  and  Lady  Maude  will  tell  us 
about  Wednesday,  for  all  these  people,  Atlee,  are 
coming  to  meet  you.  The  newspapers  have  so 
persistently  been  keeping  you  before  the  world, 
every  one  wants  to  see  you." 

Atlee  might  have  told  his  lordship — but  he  did 
not — by  what  agency  it  chanced  that  his  jour- 
neys and  his  jests  were  so  thoroughly  known  to 
the  press  of  every  capital  in  Europe. 


CHAPTER  LXXI. 

THi:    SAUNTER    IN    TOWN. 

As  Atlee  sauntered  along  toward  Downing 
Street,  whence  he  purposed  to  dispatch  his  tele- 
gram to  Greece,  he  thought  a  good  deal  of  his  late 
interview  with  Lord  1  )anesbnry.  There  was  much 
in  it  that  pleased  him.  He  had  so  far  succeed- 
ed in  re  Kostalergi  that  the  case  was  not  scout- 
ed out  of  court ;  the  matter,  at  least,  was  to  be 
entertained,  and  even  that  was  something.  The 
fascination  of  a  scheme  to  be  developed,  an  in- 
trigue to  be  worked  out,  had  for  his  peculiar  na- 
ture a  charm  little  short  of  ecstasy.  The  demand 
upon  his  resources  for  craft  and  skill,  concealment 
and  duplicity,  was  only  second  in  his  estimation 
to  the  delight  he  felt  at  measuring  his  intellect 
with  some  other,  and  seeing  whether,  in  the 
game  of  subtlety,  he  had  his  master. 

Next  to  this,  but  not  without  a  long  interval, 
was  the  pleasure  he  felt  at  the  terms  in  which 
Lord  Daneshury  spoke  of  him.  No  orator  accus- 
tomed to  hold  an  assembly  enthralled  by  his  elo- 
quence—no  actor  habituated  to  sway  the  pas- 
sions of  a  crowded  theatre — is  more  susceptible 


to  the  promptings  of  personal  vanity  than  your 
"  practiced  talker."  The  man  who  devotes  him- 
self to  be  a  "success"  in  conversation  glories 

more  in  his  triumphs,  and  sets  a  greater  value 
on  his  gifts,  than  any  other  I  know  of. 

That  men  ofm.uk  and  station  desired  to  meet 
him,  that  men  whose  position  secured  to  them 
the  advantage  of  associating  with  the  pleasautcst 
people  and  the  freshest  minds — men  who  Com 
mamled.  so  to  say,  the  best  talking  in  society  — 
wished  to  confer  with  and  to  hear  him,  was  an 
inten>e  Battery,  and  he  actually  longed  for  the 
occasion  of  display.  He  had  learned  a  good  deal 
since  he  had  left  Ireland.  He  had  less  of  that 
fluency  which  Irishmen  cultivate,  seldom  vent- 
ured on  an  epigram,  never  on  an  anecdote,  was 
guardedly  circumspect  as  to  statements  of  fact, 
and,  on  the  whole,  liked  to  understand  his  case, 
and  affect  distrust  of  his  own  opinion.  Though 
there  was  not  one  of  these  which  were  not  more 
or  less  restrictions  on  him,  he  could  be  brilliant 
and  witty  when  occasion  served,  and  there  was 
an  incisive  neatness  in  his  repartee  in  which  he 
had  no  equal  Some  of  those  he  was  to  meet 
were  well  known  among  the  most  agreeable  peo- 
ple of  society,  and  he  rejoiced  that  at  least  if  he 
were  to  be  put  upon  his  trial,  he  should  be 
judged  by  his  peers. 

With  all  these  flattering  prospects,  was  it  not 
strange  that  his  lordship  never  dropped  a  word, 
nor  even  a  hint,  as  to  his  personal  career  ?  He 
had  told  him,  indeed,  that  he  could  not  hope  for 
success  at  Cradford,  and  laughingly  said,  "You 
have  left  Odger  miles  behind  you  in  your  Radi- 
calism. Up  to  this  we  have  had  no  Parliament 
in  England  sufficiently  advanced  for  your  opin- 
ions." On  the  whole,  however,  if  not  followed 
up — which  Lord  Daneshury  strongly  objected  to 
its  being — he  said  there  was  no  great  harm  in  a 
young  man  making  his  first  advances  in  political 
life  by  something  startling.  They  are  only  fire- 
works, it  is  true ;  the  great  requisite  is  that  they 
be  brilliant,  and  do  not  go  out  with  a  smoke  and 
a  bad  smell ! 

Beyond  this  he  had  told  him  nothing.  Was 
he  minded  to  take  him  out  to  Turkey,  and  as 
what?  He  had  already  explained  to  him  that 
the  old  days  in  which  a  clever  fellow  could  be 
drafted  at  once  into  a  secretaryship  of  Embassy 
were  gone  by ;  that  though  a  Parliamentary  title 
was  held  to  supersede  all  others,  whether  in  the 
case  of  a  man  or  a  landed  estate,  it  was  all-essen- 
tial to  be  in  the  House  for  that,  and  that  a  diplo- 
matist, like  a  sweep,  must  begin  when  he  is  little. 

"As  his  private  secretary,"  thought  he,  "the 
position  is  at  once  fatal  to  all  my  hopes  with  re- 
gard to  Lady  Mamie."  There  was  not  a  woman 
living  more  certain  to  measure  a  man's  preten- 
sions by  his  station.  "  Hitherto  I  have  not  been 
'classed.'  I  might  be  any  body,  or  go  any  where. 
My  wide  capabilities  seemed  to  say  that  if  I  de- 
scended to  do  small  things,  it  would  be  quite  OS 
easy  for  me  to  do  great  ones  ;  and  though  I  cop- 
ied dispatches,  they  would  have  been  rather  bet 
ter  if  I  had  drafted  them  also." 

Lady  Maude  knew  this.  She  knew  the  esteem 
in  which  her  uncle  held  him.  She  knew  ho>v 
that  uncle,  shrewd  man  of  the  world  as  he  was. 

rained  the  sort  of  qualities  be  saw  in  him,  and 
could,  better  than  most  men,  decide  how  far  such 
gifts  were  marketable,  and  what  price  they 
bronght  to  their  possessor. 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"And  yet,"  cried  he,  "they  don't  know  one 
half  of  me !  What  would  they  say  if  they  knew 
that  it  was  I  wrote  the  great  paper  on  Turkish 
Finance  in  the  Memorial  Diplomatique,  and  the 
review  of  it  in  the  Quarterly  ;  that  it  was  I  who 
exposed  the  miserable  compromise  of  Thiers  with 
Gambetta  in  the  Dtiliats,  and  defended  him  in 
the  Daily  News;  that  the  hysterical  scream  of 
the  Kreutz  Zeitung,  and  the  severe  article  on 
Bismarck  in  the  Fortnightly  were  both  mine ;  and 
that  at  this  moment  I  am  urging  in  the  Pike  how 
the  Fenian  prisoners  must  be  amnestied,  and 
showing  in  a  London  review  that  if  they  are  lib- 
erated Mr.  Gladstone  should  be  attainted  for  high 
treason?  I  should  like  well  to  let  them  know 
all  this ;  and  I'm  not  sure  I  would  not  risk  all 
the  consequences  to  do  it." 

And  then  he  as  suddenly  bethought  him  how 
little  account  men  of  letters  were  held  in  by  the 
Lady  Maudes  of  this  world;  what  a  humble 
place  they  assigned  them  socially ;  and  how 
small  they  estimated  their  chanees  of  worldly 
success ! 

"It  is  the  unrealism  of  literature  as  a  career 
strikes  them  ;  and  they  can  not  see  how  men  are 
to  assure  themselves  of  the  '  quoi  vivre  by  pro- 
viding what  so  few  want,  and  even  they  could 
exist  without." 

It  was  in  reverie  of  this  fashion  he  walked  the 
streets,  as  little  cognizant  of  the  crowd  around 
him  as  if  he  were  sauntering  along  some  rippling 
stream  in  a  mountain  gorge. 


CHAPTER  LXXII. 


THS    DRIVE. 


Sunday  came,  and  with  it  the  visit  to  South 
Kensington,  where  Aunt  Jerningham  lived  ;  and 
Atlee  found  himself  seated  beside  Lady  Maude  in 
a  fine  roomy  barouche,  whirling  along  at  a  pace 
that  our  great  moralist  himself  admits  to  be 
among  the  very  pleasantest  excitements  human- 
ity can  experience. 

"  I  hope  you  will  add  your  persuasions  to 
mine,  Mr.  Atlee,  and  induce  my  uncle  to  take 
these  horses  with  him  to  Turkey.  You  know 
'  'onstantinople,  and  can  say  that  real  carriage- 
horses  can  not  be  had  there." 

"Horses  of  this  size,  shape,  and  action  the 
Sultan  himself  has  not  the  equals  of." 

"No  one  is  more  aware  than  my  lord,"  con- 
tinued she,  "  that  the  measure  of  an  embassa- 
dor's influence  is,  in  a  great  degree,  the  style  and 
splendor  in  which  he  represents  his  country,  and 
that  his  household,  his  equipage,  his  retinue,  and 
his  dinners  should  mark  distinctly  the  station  he 
assumes  to  occupy.  Some  caprice  of  Mr.  Wal- 
pole's  about  Arab  horses — Arabs  of  bone  and 
blood  he  used  to  talk  of — has  taken  hold  of  my 
uncle's  mind,  and  I  half  fear  that  he  may  not  take 
the  English  horses  with  him." 

"By-the-way."  said  Atlee,  half  listlessly, 
"where  is  Walpole?    What  has  become  of  him?" 

"He  is  in  Ireland  at  this  moment." 

"  In  Ireland !  Good  Heavens  !  has  he  not  had 
enough  of  Ireland?" 

"Apparently  not.  He  went  over  there  on 
Tuesday  last." 

"  And  what  can  he  possibly  have  to  do  in  Ire- 
land?" 


"  I  should  say  that  you  are  more  likely  to  fur- 
nish the  answer  to  that  question  than  I."    If  I'm 
I  not  much  mistaken,  his  letters  are  forwarded  to 
the  same  country  house  where  you  first  made 
each  other's  acquaintance." 
"What,  Kilgobbin  Castle?" 
"  Yes,  it  is  something  Castle,  and  I  think  the 
name  you  mentioned." 

"  And  this  only  puzzles  me  the  more,"  added 
I  Atlee,  pondering.  "  His  first  visit  there,  at  the 
;  time  I  met  him,  was  a  mere  accident  of  travel — 
a  tourist's  curiosity  to  see  an  old  castle  supposed 
I  to  have  some  historic  associations." 

"  Were  there  not  some  other  attractions  in  the 
!  spot  ?"  interrupted  she,  smiling. 

"  Yes,  there  was  a  genial  old  Irish  squire,  who 
did  the  honors  very  handsomely,  if  a  little  rude- 
ly, and  there  were  two  daughters,  or  a  daughter 
and  a  niece,  I'm  not  very  clear  which,  who  sang 
Irish  melodies  and  talked  rebellion  to  match  very 
1  amusingly." 

"  Were  they  pretty?" 

' '  Well,  perhaps  courtesy  would  say  '  pretty, ' 
•  but  a  keener  criticism  would  dwell  on    certain 
awkwardnesses  of  manner — Walpole  called  them 
I  Irishries." 
"  Indeed !" 

"  Yes,  he  confessed  to  have  been  amused  with 
the  eccentric  habits  and  odd  ways,  but  he  was 
not  sparing  of  his  strictures  afterward." 
"  So  that  there  were  no  '  tendernesses  ?' " 
"Oh,  111  not  go  that  far.  I  rather  suspect 
there  were  'tendernesses,'  but  only  such  as  a 
fine  gentleman  permits  himself  among  semi-sav- 
age peoples — something  that  seems  to  say,  '  Be 
as  fond  of  me  as  you  like,  and  it  is  a  great  priv- 
ilege you  enjoy ;  and  I,  on  my  side,  will  accord 
you  such  of  my  affections  as  I  set  no  particular 
store  bv.'     Just  as  one  throws  small  coin  to  a 


"Oh,  Mr.  Atlee!" 

"  I  am  ashamed  to  own  that  I  have  seen  some- 
thing of  this  kind  myself." 

"It  is  not  like  my  cousin  Cecil  to  behave  in 
that  fashion." 

"  I  might  say,  Lady  Maude,  that  your  home 
experiences  of  people  would  prove  a  very  falla- 
cious guide  as  to  what  they  might  or  might  not 
do  in  a  society  of  whose  ways  you  know  noth- 
ing." 

"A  man  of  honor  would  always  be  a  man  of 
honor." 

"  There  are  men,  and  men  of  honor,  as  there 
are  persons  of  excellent  principles  with  delicate 
j  moral  health,  and  they — I  say  it  with  regret — 
'  must  be  satisfied  to  be  as  respectably  conducted 
as  they  are  able." 

"  I  don't  think  you  like  Cecil."  said  she,  half 
puzzled  by  his  subtlety,  but  hitting  what  she 
thought  to  be  a  "  blot." 

"  It  is  difficult  for  me  to  tell  his  cousin  what 
I  should  like  to  say  in  answer  to  this  remark. " 

"Oh,  have  no  embarrassment  on  that  score. 
There  are  very  few  people  less  trammeled  by  the 
ties  of  relationship  than  we  are.  Speak  out,  and 
if  you  want  to  say  any  thing  particularly  severe, 
have  no  fears  of  wounding  my  susceptibilities." 

"And  do  you  know,  Lady  Maude,"'  said  he, 
in  a  voice  of  almost  confidential  meaning,  "this 
was  the  very  thing  I  was  dreading?  I  had  at 
one  time  a  good  deal  of  Walpole's  intimacy — I'll 
not  call  it  friendship,  for  somehow  there  were 


LORD  IULGOBBIN. 


certain  differences  of  temperament  that  separa- 
ted us  continually.  We  could  commonly  agree 
upon  the  same  tilings:  we  could  never  be  one- 
minded  about' the  same  people.  I"  my  experi- 
ences, the  world  is  by  no  means  the  cold-hearted 
and  selfish  thing  he  deems  it  \  and  yet  I  suppose, 
Lady  Maude,  if  there  were  to  be  a  verdict  given 
upon  us  both,  nine  out  of  ten  would  have  tixi-tl 
(.ii  in,  ;i>  the  Bcoffer,     I-  not  this  so?" 

The  artfulness  with  which  he  had  contrived  to 
make  himself  and  his  character  a  question  of  dis- 
cussion achieved  only  a  half  success,  for  she  only 
gave  <>ne  of  her  most  meaningless  smiles  as  she 
said,  "'I  do  not  know;   I'm  not  quite  sure." 

"And  yet  I  am  more  concerned  to  learn  what 
you  would  think  on  this  score  than  for  the  opin- 
ion of  the  whole  world." 

Like  a  man  who  lias  taken  a  leap  and  found  a 
deep  "drop"  on  the  other  side,  he  came  to  a 
dead  halt  as  he  saw  the  cold  and  impassive  look 
her  features  had  assumed.  He  would  have  giv- 
en worlds  to  recall  his  speech  and  stand  as  he 
did  before  it  was  uttered  :  for  though  she  did  not 
say  one  word,  there  was  that  in  her  calm  and 
composed  expression  which  reproved  all  that 
savored  of  passionate  appeal.  A  now-or-ncver 
-ort  of  courage  nerved  him,  and  he  went  on:  "1 
know  all  the  presumption  of  a  man  like  myself 
daring  to  address  such  words  to  you,  Lady 
Maude :  hut  do  you  remember  that  though  all 
eyes  but  one  saw  only  fog-hank  in  the  horizon, 
Columbus  maintained  there  was  land  in  the  dis- 
tance? and  so  say  1,  '  He  who  would  lay  his  for- 
tunes at  your  feet  now  s'ees  high  honors  and  great 
rewards  awaiting  him  in  the  future.  It  is  with 
you  to  say  whether  these  honors  hecome  the 
Crowning  glories  of  a  life,  or  all  pursuit  of  them 
he  valueless:'     May  I — dare  I  hope?" 

"This  is  Lebanon,"  said  she;  ''at  least  I 
think  so;"  and  she  held  her  glass  to  her  eye. 
••Strange  caprice,  wasn't  it,  to  call  her  house 
Lebanon  because  of  those  wretched  cedars? 
Aunt  Jerninghara  i    so  odd!" 

••There  is  a  crowd  of  carriages  here,"  said  At- 
lee,  endeavoring  to  speak  with  unconcern. 

"It  is  her  day;  she  likes  to  receive  on  Sun- 
days, as  she  says  she  escapes  the  bishops.  By- 
t he-way,  did  you  tell  me  you  were  an  old  friend 
.f  hers,  or  did  I  dream  it?" 

"  I'm  afraid  it  was  the  vision  revealed  it." 

"  liecause,  if  so,  I  must  not  take  you  in.  She 
has  a  rule  against  all  presentations  on  Sundays  ; 
they  are  only  her  intimates  she  receives  on  that 
day.      We  shall  have  to  return  as  we  came." 

"  Not  for  worlds.  Pray  let  me  not  prove  an 
embarrassment.  Yon  can  make  your  visit,  and 
I  will  go  hack  on  foot.  Indeed,  1  should  like  a 
walk." 

"On  no  account!  Take  the  carriage,  and 
send  it  hark  for  me.  I  shall  remain  here  till 
afternoon  tea." 

••Thanks,  hut  I  hold  to  my  walk." 
"It  i-  a  (harming  day.  and   I'm  sure  a  walk 
will  he  delightful." 

"  Am  I   to  Suppose,   Lady  Maude.''  -aid  he,  in 

a  low  voice,  as  he  assisted  her  to  alight,  •"that 
•.on  will  deign  me  a  more  formal  answer  at  an- 
other time  to  the  word-  I  ventured  to  address 
you?  May  I  live  in  the  hope  that  I  ghall  yel  re- 
gard this  day  a-  the  tuo-i  fortunate  of  my  life?" 
••  It  i-  wonderful  weather  for  November — an 
English  November,  too.  Pray  let  me  assure  you 
M 


that  you  need  not  make  yourself  uneasy  about 
what  you  were  Bpeaking  of.     I  shall  not  mention 

it  to  any  one,  [east  of  all  to  'my  lord;'  and  as 
for  myself,  it  shall  he  as  completely  forgotten  a- 

though  it  had  never  been  uttered." 

And  Bhe  held  out  her  hand  with  a  sort  of  cor- 
dial   frankness   that    actually    said.  " There,  you 

are  forgiven  .'     L  there  any  record  of  generosity 
like  this?" 
Atlee  bowed  low  and  resignedly  over  that 

gloved  hand,  which  he  felt  he  was  touching  for 
the  last  time,  and  turned  away  with  a  rush  of 
thoughts  through   his  I. rain,  in   which  certainly 

the  pleasantest  were  not  the  predominating  ones. 

He  did  not  dine  that  day  at  Linton  Street, 
and  only  returned  ahotit  ten  o'clock,  whin  he 
knew  he  should  find  Lord  Danesbury  in  his 
study. 

"I  have  determined,  my  lord,"  said  he,  with 
somewhat  of  decision  in  his  tone  that  savored  of 
a  challenge,  "  to  go  over  to  Ireland  by  the  morn- 
ing mail." 

Too  much  engrossed  by  his  own  thoughts  to  no- 
tice the  other's  manner.  Lord  Daneslmry  merely 
turned  from  the  papers  before  him  to  say.  "  All, 
indeed !  it  would  he  very  well  done.  We  were 
talking  ahout  that,  were  we  not,  yesterday  ? 
What  was  it?" 
"The  Greek — Kostalergi's  daughter,  raylord?" 

"  To  he  sure.  You  are  incredulous  ahout  her, 
ain't  you  ?" 

"On  the  contrary,  my  lord,  I  opine  that  the 
fellow  has  told  us  the  truth.  I  believe  he  has 
a  daughter,  and  destines  this  money  to  be  her 
dowry." 

"With  all  my  heart;  I  do  not  see  how  it 
should  concern  me.  If  I  am  to  pay  the  money. 
it  matters  very  little  to  me  whether  he  invests  it 
in  a  Greek  husband  or  the  Double  Zero — specu- 
lations. I  take  it.  pretty  much  alike.  Have  you 
sent  a  telegram  ?" 

"  I  have,  my  lord.  I  have  engaged  your  lord- 
ship's word  that  you  are  willing  to  treat." 

"Just  so;  it  is  exactly  what  I  am!  Willing 
to  treat,  willing  to  hear  argument,  and  reply  with 
my  own,  why  1  should  give  more  for  any  thing 
than  it  is  worth." 

"We  need  not  discuss  further  what  we  can 
only  regard  from  one  point  of  view,  and  that  our 
own." 

Lord  Danesbury  started.  The  altered  tone 
and  manner  struck  him  now  for  the  first  time, 
and  he  threw  his  spectacles  on  the  tabic  and 
-tared  at  tin-  speaker  with  astonishment. 

"There  is  another  point,  my  lord," continued 
Atlee,  with  unbroken  calm,  "that  I  should  like 
to  a-k  your  lordship's  judgment  upon,  a-  I  shall 
iii  a  few  hours  lie  in  Ireland,  where  the  question 

will  present  itself.  There  was  some  time  ago  in 
Ireland  a  case  brought  under  your  lord-hip'-  no- 
tice of  a  very  gallant  resistance  made  bj  a  fami- 
ly against  an  armed  party  who  attacked  a  house, 
and  your  lordshjp  was  graciously  pleased  to  baa 

that  some  recognition  should  be  offered  to  oi f 

the  sons  something  to  -how  how  the  Govern- 
ment regarded  and  approved  hi-  Bpirited  e, Mi- 
duct." 

"I  know,  I  know;  but  I  am  no  longer  the 
Viceroy." 

"•  1  am  aware  of  that,  my  hud.  nor  is  your 
successor  appointed ;  but  anj  suggestion  or  wish 
of  your  lordship's  would   be  accepted   by  the 


178 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


Lords  Justices  with  great  deference,  all  the  more 
in  payment  of  a  debt.  If,  then,  your  lordship 
would  recommend  this  young  man  for  the  first 
vacancy  in  the  constabulary,  or  some  place  in  the 
customs,  it  would  satisfy  a  most  natural  expec- 
tation, and,  at  the  same  time,  evidence  your 
lordship's  interest  for  the  country  you  so  lately 
ruled  over." 

"  There  is  nothing  more  pernicious  than  fore- 
stalling other  people's  patronage,  Atlee.  Not 
but  if  this  thing  was  to  be  done  for  yourself — " 

"  Pardon  me,  my  lord,  I  do  not  desire  any 
thing  for  myself." 

"  Well,  be  it  so.  Take  this  to  the  Chancellor 
or  the  Commander-in-Chief" — and  he  scribbled 
a  few  hasty  lines  as  he  talked — "and  say  what 
you  can  in  support  of  it.  If  they  give  you  some- 
thing good,  I  shall  be  heartily  glad  of  it,  and  I 
wish  you  years  to  enjoy  it." 

Atlee  only  smiled  at  the  warmth  of  interest 
for  him  which  was  linked  with  such  a  shortness 
of  memory,  but  was  too  much  wounded  in  his 
pride  to  reply.  And  now,  as  he  saw  that  his 
lordship  had  replaced  his  glasses  and  resumed 
his  work,  he  walked  noiselessly  to  the  door  and 
withdrew. 


CHAPTER  LXXIII. 

A    DARKENED    ROOM. 

The  "comatose"  state,  to  use  the  language 
of  the  doctors,  into  which  Gorman  O'Shea  had 
fallen  had  continued  so  long  as  to  excite  the 
greatest  apprehensions  of  his  friends ;  for  al- 
though not  amounting  to  complete  insensibility, 
it  left  him  so  apathetic  and  indifferent  to  every 
thing  and  every  one  that  the  girls,  Kate  and 
Nina,  in  pure  despair,  had  given  up  reading  or 
talking  to  him,  and  passed  their  hours  of  "watch- 
ing" in  perfect  silence  in  the  half-darkened  room. 

The  stern  immobility  of  his  pale  features,  the 
glassy  and  meaningless  stare  of  his  large  blue 
eyes,  the  unvarying  rhythm  of  a  long-drawn  res- 
piration, were  signs  that  at  length  became  more 
painful  to  contemplate  than  evidences  of  actual 
suffering;  and  as  day  by  day  went  on,  and  in- 
terest grew  more  and  more  eager  about  the  trial, 
which  was  fixed  for  the  coming  Assize,  it  was 
pitiable  to  see  him,  whose  fate  was  so  deeply 
pledged  on  the  issue,  unconscious  of  all  that  went 
on  around  him,  and  not  caring  to  know  any  of 
those  details  the  very  least  of  which  might  de- 
termine his  future  lot. 

The  instructions  drawn  up  for  the  defense 
were  sadly  in  need  of  the  sort  of  information 
which  the  sick  man  alone  could  supply ;  and 
Nina  and  Kate  had  both  been  entreated  to 
watch  for  the  first  favorable  moment  that  should 
present  itself,  and  ask  certain  questions,  the  an- 
swers to  which  would  be  of  the  last  import- 
ance. 

Though  Gill's  affidavit  gave  many  evidences 
of  unscrupulous  falsehood,  there  was  no  counter- 
evidence  to  set  against  it,  and  O'Shea's  counsel 
complained  strongly  of  the  meagre  instructions 
which  were  briefed  to  him  in  the  case,  and  his  ut- 
ter inability  to  construct  a  defense  upon  them. 

"  He  said  he  would  tell  me  something  this 
evening,  Kate,"  said  Nina;  "so,  if  you  will  let 
me,  I  will  go  in  your  place  and  remind  him  of 
his  promise." 


This  hopeful  sigii  of  returning  intelligence  was 
so  gratifying  to  Kate  that  she  readily  consented 
to  the  proposition  of  her  cousin  taking  "  her 
watch,"  and,  if  possible,  learning  something  of 
his  wishes. 

"  He  said  it,"  continued  Nina,  "  like  one  talk- 
ing to  himself,  and  it  was  not  easy  to  follow  him. 
The  words,  as  well  as  I  could  make  out,  were, 
'I  will  say  it  to-day — this  evening,  if  I  can. 
When  it  is  said' — here  he  muttered  something, 
but  I  can  not  say  whether  the  words  were,  'Mv 
mind  will  be  at  rest, 'or  'I  shall  be  at  rest  fo'r 
evermore. ' " 

Kate  did  not  utter  a  word,  but  her  eyes  swam, 
and  two  large  tears  stole  slowly  down  her  face. 

"  His  own  conviction  is  that  he  is  dying,"  said 
Nina ;  but  Kate  never  spoke. 

"The  doctors  persist,"  continued  Nina,  "in 
declaring  that  this  depression  is  only  a  well-known 
symptom  of  the  attack,  and  that  all  affections  of 
the  brain  are  marked  by  a  certain  tone  of  de- 
spondency. They  even  say  more,  and  that  the 
cases  where  this  symptom  predominates  are  more 
frequently  followed  by  recovery.  Are  you  list- 
ening to  me,  child  ?" 

"No:  I  was  following  some  thoughts  of  my 
own." 

"  I  was  merely  telling  you  why  I  think  he  is 
getting  better." 

Kate  leaned  her  head  on  her  cousin's  shoul- 
der, and  she  did  not  speak.  The  heaving  mo- 
tion of  her  shoulders  and  her  chest  betrayed  the 
agitation  she  could  not  subdue. 

"I  wish  his  aunt  were  here;  I  see  how  her 
absence  frets  him.  Is  she  too  ill  for  the  jour- 
ney ?"  asked  Nina. 

"She  says  not,  and  she  seems  in  some  way  to 
be  coerced  by  others  ;  but  a  telegram  this  morn- 
ing announces  she  would  try  and  reach  Kilgobbin 
this  evening." 

"  What  could  coercion  mean  ?  Surely  this  is 
mere  fancy  ?" 

"I  am  not  so  certain  of  that.  The  convent 
has  great  hopes  of  inheriting  her  fortune.  She 
is  rich,  and  she  is  a  devout  Catholic ;  and  we 
have  heard  of  cases  where  zeal  for  the  Church 
has  pushed  discretion  very  far." 

"  What  a  worldly  creature  it  is !"  cried  Nina ; 
"and  who  would  have  suspected  it?" 

"  I  do  not  see  the  worldliness  of  my  believing 
that  people  will  do  much  to  serve  the  cause 
they  follow.  When  chemists  tells  us  that  there 
is  no  finding  such  a  thing  as  a  glass  of  pure  wa- 
ter, where  are  we  to  go  for  pure  motives  ?" 

"To  one's  heart,  of  course, "said  Nina;  but 
the  curl  of  her  perfectly  cut  upper  lip  as  she  said 
it  scarcely  vouched  for  the  sincerity. 

On  that  same  evening,  just  as  the  last  flicker- 
ings  of  twilight  were  dying  away,  Nina  stole  into 
the  sick-room  and  took  her  place  noiselessly  be- 
side the  bed. 

Slowly  moving  his  arm  without  turning  his 
head,  or  by  any  gesture  whatever  acknowledging 
her  presence,  he  took  her  hand  and  pressed  it  to 
his  burning  lips,  and  then  laid  it  upon  his  cheek. 
She  made  no  effort  to  withdraw  her  hand,  and  sat 
perfectly  still  and  motionless. 

"Are  we  alone?"  whispered  he,  in  a  voice 
hardly  audible. 

"Yes,  quite  alone." 

"  If  I  should  say  what — displease  yon,"  fal- 
tered he,  his  agitation  making  speech  more  diffi- 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


cult;   "how  shall  I   tell?"     And  once  more  he 
pressed  bei  hand  to  hia  lips, 

"No,  no;  have  no  tears  of  displeasing  me. 
Say  what  you  would  like  to  tell  me." 

"''It  is  this,  then,"  said  he,  with  an  effort  "  1 
am  dying  with  my  seeret  in  my  heart.  I  am  dy- 
ing, to  cany  away  with  me  the  love  1  am  not  to 
tell— my  love  for  you,  Kate." 


through  her  heart,  ami  she  lav  Lark  in  her  chair 

with  a  cold  feeling  of  sickness  like  fainting.   The 
overpowering  passion  of  her  nature  was  jealousy. 

and  to  share  even  the  admiration  of  a  Salon,  the 

"  passing  homage,"  as  Buch  deference  is  called, 
with  another,  was  a  something  do  effort  of  he. 

generosity  could  compass. 

Though  she  did  not  s)>eak,  she  suffered  Iter 


8HE    8CFFERED    HEK    HAND    TO    UEMA.IX    UNRESISTINGLY    WITHIN    HIS    OWN. 


"I  am  not  Kate,"  was  almost  on  her  lips,  Imt 
her  struggle  to  keep  silent  was  aided  by  that  de- 
sire, so  strong  in  her  nature,  to  follow  out  a  situ- 
ation  of  difficulty  to  the  end.  .She  did  not  love 
him,  nor  did  she  desire  his  love;  hut  a  Btrange 
sense  of  injury  at  hearing  his  profession  of  love 
for  another  shot  a  pang  of  intense  Buffering 


hand  to  remain  unresistingly  within  his  own. 
After  a  short  pause  he  went  on:  "I  thought 
yesterday  that  I  was  dying,  and  in  my  rambling 
intellect]  thought  l  took  leave  of  you;   and 

do   you   know   my  last    words — my  last  words, 
Kate?" 
"  No  ;  what  were  they  ?" 


180 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"My  last  words  were  these,  '  Beware  of  the 
Greek;  have  no  friendship  with  the  Greek.'" 

"And  why  that  warning?"  said  she,  in  a  low, 
faint  voice. 

"  She  is  not  of  ns,  Kate  ;  none  of  her  ways  or 
thoughts  are  ours,  nor  would  they  suit  us.  She 
is  subtle  and  clever  and  sly,  and  these  only  mis- 
lead those  who  live  simple  lives." 

"May  it  not  be  that  you  wrong  her  ?"' 

"I  have  tried  to  learn  her  nature." 

"  Not  to  love  it?" 

"I  believe  I  was  beginning  to  love  her — just 
when  yon  were  cold  to  me.  You  remember 
when  ?" 

"  I  do  ;  and  it  was  this  coldness  was  the  cause. 
Was  it  the  only  cause  ?" 

"No,  no.  She  has  wiles  and  ways  which, 
with  her  beauty,  make  her  nigh  irresistible." 

"And  now  you  are  cured  of  this  passion? 
There  is  no  trace  of  it  in  your  breast?" 

"  Not  a  vestige.     But  why  speak  of  her?" 

"  Perhaps  I  am  jealous." 

Once  more  he  pressed  his  lips  to  her  hand  and 
kissed  it  rapturously. 

"No,  Kate,"  cried  he,  "none  but  you  have 
the  place  in  my  heart.  Whenever  I  have  tried  a 
treason  it  has  turned  against  me.  Is  there  light 
enough  in  the  room  to  find  a  small  portfolio  of 
red-brown  leather?    It  is  on  that  table  yonder." 

Had  the  darkness  been  not  almost  complete, 
Nina  would  scarcely  have  ventured  to  rise  and 
cross  the  room,  so  fearful  was  she  of  being  rec- 
ognized. 

"It  is  locked,"  said  she,  as  she  laid  it  beside 
him  on  the  bed ;  but  touching  a  secret  spring, 
he  opened  it,  and  passed  his  fingers  hurriedly 
through  the  papers  within. 

"I  believe  it  must  be  this,"  said  he.  "I 
think  I  know  the  feel  of  the  paper.  It  is  a 
telegram  from  my  aunt :  the  doctor  gave  it  to 
me  last  night.  We  read  it  over  together  four  or 
five  times.  This  is  it,  and  these  are  the  words  : 
'  If  Kate  will  be  your  wife,  the  estate  of  O'Shea's 
Barn  is  your  own  forever. '  " 

"  Is  she  to  have  no  time  to  think  over  this  of- 
fer ?"  asked  she. 

"Would  you  like  candles,  miss?"  asked  a 
maid-servant,  of  whose  presence  there  neither 
of  the  others  had  been  aware. 

"No,  nor  are  you  wanted,"  said  Nina, 
haughtily,  as  she  arose,  while  it  was  not  without 
some  difficulty  she  withdrew  her  hand  from  the 
sick  man's  grasp. 

"I  know,"  said  he,  falteringly.  "you  would 
not  leave  me  if  you  had  not  left  hope  to  keep  me 
company  in  your  absence.  Is  not  that  so, 
Kate  ?" 

"By-by,"  said  she,  softly,  and  stole  away. 


CHAPTER  LXXIV. 

AN     ANGRY     COLLOQUY. 

It  was  with  passionate  eagerness  Nina  set  off 
in  search  of  Kate.  Why  she  should  have  felt 
herself  wronged,  outraged,  insulted  even,  is  not 
so  easy  to  say,  nor  shall  I  attempt  any  analysis 
of  the  complex  web  of  sentiments  which,  so  to 
say,  spread  itself  over  her  faculties.  The  man 
who  had  so  wounded  her  self-love  had  been  at  her 
feet,  he   had   followed  her  in  her  walks,  hung 


]  over  the  piano  as  she  sang  —  shown  by  a  thou- 
sand signs  that  sort  of  devotion  by  which  men  in- 
timate that  their  lives  have  but  one  solace,  one 
ecstasy,  one  joy.  By  what  treachery  had  he 
been  moved  to  all  this,  if  he  really  loved  anoth- 
er? That  he  was  simply  amusing  himself  with 
the  sort  of  flirtation  she  herself  could  take  up  as 
a  mere  pastime  was  not  to  believed.  That  the 
worshiper  should  be  insincere  in  his  worship 
was  too  dreadful  to  think  of.  And  yet  it  was 
to  this  very  man  she  had  once  turned  to  avenge 
herself  on  Walpole's  treatment  of  her  ;  she  had 
even  said,  "Could  you  not  make  a  quarrel  with 
him?"  Now  no  woman  of  foreign  breeding 
puts  such  a  question  without  the  perfect  con- 
sciousness that,  in  accepting  a  man's  champion- 
ship, she  has  virtually  admitted  his  devotion. 
Her  own  levity  of  character,  the  thoughtless  in- 
difference with  which  she  would  sport  with  any 
man's  affections,  so  far  from  inducing  her  to  pal- 
liate such  caprices,  made  her  more  severe  and 
unforgiving.  "  How  shall  I  punish  him  for 
this?  How  shall  I  make  him  remember  whom 
it  is  he  has  insulted  ?"  repeated  she  over  and 
over  to  herself  as  she  went. 

The  servants  passed  her  on  the  stairs  with 
trunks  and  luggage  of  various  kinds ;  but  she 
was  too  much  engrossed  with  her  own  thoughts 
to  notice  them.  Suddenly  the  words,  "Mr. 
Walpole's  room,"  caught  her  ear,  and  she  asked, 
"Has  any  one  come ?" 

Yes :  two  gentlemen  had  just  arrived.  A  third 
was  to  come  that  night,  and  Miss  O'Shea  might 
be  expected  at  any  moment. 

"Where  .was  Miss  Kate?'!  she  inquired. 

"  In  her  own  room  at  the  top  of  the  house." 

Thither  she  hastened  at  once. 

"  Be  a  dear  good  girl,"  cried  Kate  as  Nina 
entered,  "and  help  me  in  my  many  embarrass- 
ments. Here  are  a  flood  of  visitors  all  coming 
unexpectedly.  Major  Lockwood  and  Mr.  Wal- 
pole  have  come.  Miss  Betty  will  be  here  for 
dinner,  and  Mr.  Atlee,  whom  we  all  believed  to 
be  in  Asia,  may  arrive  to-night.  I  shall  lie  able 
to  feed  them ;  but  how  to  lodge  them  with  any 
pretension  to  comfort  is  more  than  I  can  see." 

"I  am  in  little  humor  to  aid  any  one.  I  have 
my  own  troubles — worse  ones,  perhaps,  than 
playing  hostess  to  disconsolate  travelers." 

"  And  what  are  your  troubles,  dear  Nina  ?" 

"  I  have  half  a  mind  not  to  tell  you.  'You  ask 
me  with  that  supercilious  air  that  seems  to  say, 
|  '  How  can  a  creature  like  you  be  of  interest 
enough  to  any  one  or  any  thing  to  have  a  diffi- 
culty ?' " 

"  I  force  no  confidences,"  said  the  other, 
coldly. 

"For  that  reason  yon  shall  have  them  —  at 
least  this  one.  What  will  you  say  when  I  tell 
you  that  young  O'Shea  has  made  me  a  declara- 
tion, a  formal  declaration  of  love  ?" 

"  I  should  say  that  you  need  not  speak  of  it 
as  an  insult  nor  an  offense." 

"Indeed!  and  if  so,  you  would  say  what 
was  perfectly  wrong.  It  was  both  insult  and 
offense — yes,  both.  Do  you  know  that  the  man 
mistook  me  tor  you,  and  called  me  Kate?" 

"  How  could  this  be  possible?" 

"  In  a  darkened  room,  with  a  sick  man  slow- 
ly rallying  from  a  long  attack  of  stupor;  noth- 
ing  of  me  to  he  seen  but  my  hand,  which  he  de- 
voured with  kisses— raptures,  indeed,  Kate,  of 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


1-] 


which  I  bad  no  conception  till  I  experienced 
them  by  counterfeit !" 

•'  ( >h  !    Nina,  this  is  not  fair  !" 

••It  is  true,  child.  The  man  caught  my  hand, 
and  declared  be  would  never  quit  it  till  1  prom- 
ised it  should  be  his  own.  Nor  was  be  content 
with  this;  but,  anticipating  his  right  to  be  lord 
and  master,  lie  hade  von  beware  of  me  I  'He- 
ware  of  that  Greek  girl!'  were  his  words— words 
strengthened  by  what  he  Baid  of  my  character 
nnd  my  temperament  1  shall  spare  you,  and  I 
shall  spare  myself,  his  acute  comments  on  the  na- 
ture he  dreaded  to  see  in  companionship  with  Ins 
wife.  I  have  had  good  training  in  learning  these 
unbiased  judgments — my  early  life  abounded  in 
such  experiences— but  this  young  gentleman's 
cautions  were  candor  itself." 

••1  am  sincerely  sorry  for  what  has  pained 

you." 

"  I  did  not  say  it  was  this  boy's  foolish  words 
had  wounded  ine  so  acutely.  I  could  bear 
sterner  critics  than  he  is — his  very  blundering 
misconception  of  me  would  always  plead  his  par-  i 
don.  How  could  he,  or  how  could  they  with 
whom  he  lived  and  talked,  and  smoked  and 
swaggered,  know  of  me  or  such  as  me?  What 
could  there  be  in  the  monotonous  vulgarity  of 
their  tiresome  lives  that  should  teach  them  what 
we  are,  or  what  we  wish  to  he  ?  By  what  pre- 
sumption did  he  dare  to  condemn  all  that  he 
could  not  understand  ?" 

"You  are  angry,  Nina;  and  I  will  not  say' 
without  some  cause." 

•*  What  ineffable  generosity  !  You  can  really 
constrain  yourself  to  believe  that  I  have  been  in- 
sulted:-' 

••  I  should  not  say  insulted." 

"You  can  not  be  an  honest  judge  in  such  a 
cause.  Every  outrage  ottered  to  me.  was  an  act  ; 
of  homage  to  yourself!  If  you  but  knew  how  I 
burned  to  tell  him  who  it  was  whose  hand  he 
held  in  his,  and  to  whose  ears  he  had  poured  out 
his  raptures!  To  tell  him,  too,  how  the  Creek 
girl  would  have  resented  his  presumption  had 
he  but  dared  to  indulge  it !  One  of  the  women- 
servants,  it  would  seem,  was  a  witness  to  this 
boy's  declaration.  1  think  it  was  .Mary  was  in 
the  room,  I  do  not  know  for  how  long,  but  she 
announced  her  presence  by  asking  some  question 
about  candles.  In  tact,  I  shall  have  become  aj 
servants-hall  scandal  by  this  time." 

"There  need  not  he  any  fear  of  that,  Nina;  i 
there  arc  no  bad  tongues  among  our  people." 

"  I  know  all  that.  I  know  we  live  amidst  hu- 
man perfectibilities — all  of  [rish  manufacture, 
and  warranted  to  be  genuine." 

•■  I  would  hope  that  some  of  your  impressions  j 
of  Ireland  are  not  unfavorable?" 

"I  scarcely  know.  I  suppose  you  understand 
each  other,  and  are  tolerant  about  capricious 
moods  and  ways,  which  to  strangers  might  Beem 
to  have  a  deeper  significance.      I  believe  you  are 

not  as  hasty,  or  as  riolent,  or  as  rash  as  you 

se  -in.  and  1  am  sure  you  are  not  Bfl  impulsive  in 

your  generosity,  or  as  headlong  in  your  affec- 
tions.    Not  exactly  that  you  mean  to  be  false, 
but  you  are  hypocrites  to  yourselves." 
"  A  very  Battering  pictnre  of  us." 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  Hatter  you  •  and  it  is  to 
this  end  I  say  you  are  Italians  without  the  sub- 
tlety of  the  Italian,  and  Greeks  without  their 
genius.     You  need  not  courtesy  so  profoundly. 


I  could  say  worse  than  this,  Rate,  it'  I  were 
nfinded  to  do  bo." 

•'  Pray  do  not  be  so  minded,  then.  Pray  re- 
member that,  even  when  you   wound  me,  I  can 

not  return  the  thrust." 

••  I  know  what  you  mean,"  cried  Nina,  rapidly. 

"You  arc  veritable  Arabs  in  your  estimate  of  hos- 
pitality, and  he  w  ho  has  eaten  your  salt  is  sacred.' 

"You  remind  me  of  what  I  had  nigh  forgot- 
ten, Nina— of  our  coming  guestB." 

"Do  you  know  why  VValrJble  and  his  friend 
are  coining  ?" 

"  They  are  already  come,  Nina — they  are  out 
walking  with  papa;  bul  what  has  brought  them, 
here  I  can  not  guess,  and,  since  I  have  heard 
your  description  of  Ireland.  I  can  not  imagine." 

"  Nor  can  I,"  said  she,  indolently,  and  moved 
away. 


CHAPTER  LXXV. 

MAURICE    KEARNEY'S    REFLECTIONS. 

To  have  his  house  full  of  company,  to  see  his 
table  crowded  with  guests,  was  nearer  perfect 
happiness  than  any  thing  Kearney  knew  ;  and 
when  he  set  out,  the  morning  after  the  arrival 
of  the  strangers,  to  show  Major  Lockwood  where 
he  would  find  a  brace  of  woodcocks,  the  old  man 
was  in  such  spirits  as  he  had  not  known  for 
years. 

"  Why  don't  your  friend  Walpolc  come  with 
us  ?"  asked  he  of  his  companion,  as  they  trudged 
across  the  bog. 

"  I  believe  I  can  guess,"  mumbled  out  the  oth- 
er ;    "but  I'm  not  quite  sure  I  ought  to  tell." 

"I  see."  said  Kearney,  with  a  knowing  leer: 
"he's  afraid  I'll  roast  him  about  that  unlucky 
dispatch  he  wrote.  He  thinks  I'll  give  him  no 
peace  about  that  bit  of  stupidity  ;  for  you  see. 
major,  it  was  stupid,  and  nothing  less.  Of  all 
the  things  we  despise  in  Ireland,  take  my  word 
for  it,  there  is  nothing  we  think  so  little  of  as  a 
weak  Government.  We  can  stand  up  Strong 
and  bold  against  hard  usage,  and  we  gain  self 
respect  by  resistance;  but  when  you  come  down 
to  conciliations  and  what  you  call  healing  meas- 
ures, we  feel  as  if  you  were  going  to  humbug  us. 
and  there  is  not  a  devilment  comes  into  our  heads 
we  would  not  do,  just  to  see  how  you'll  bear  it  : 
and  it's  then  your  London  newspapers  cry  out  : 
■  What's  the  086  of  doing  any  thing  for  Ireland  ? 
We  pulled  down  the  Church,  and  we  robbed  tic 
landlords,  and  we're  now  going  to  back  Cardi- 
nal t  'alien  for  them,  and  there  they  are  lnurther- 
ing  away  as  bad  as  ever.'  " 

••  Is  it  not  true?"  asked  the  major. 

"And  whose  fault  if  it  it  true?  Who  has 
broke  down  the  laws  in  Ireland  but  yourselves? 
We  Irish  never  said  that  many  things  you  called 
crimes  were  bad  in  murals,  and  when  it  occurs 
to  you  now  to  doubt   if  lliev  are  crimes.   I'd  like 

to  ask  you,  why  wouldn't  »•>■  do  them?  Jfoi 
won't  give  us  our  independence,  and  so  well 
fight  for  it  •,  and  though,  maybe,  we  can't  lick 

you,  we'll   make  your  life  so   uncomfortable    ti 

you,  keeping  us  down;    that   you  11  beg  a  i' • 

promise— a  healing  measure,  you'll  call  it — just 
as  wle-n  I  won't  give  Tim  Sullivan  a  tease,  la' 

takes  a  shot  at  me  :  and  as  I  reckon  the  holes  in 
my  hat.  I  think  better  of  it.  and  take  a  pound  or 
two  otf  his  rent.'' 


1 S2 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"  So  that,  in  fact,  you  court  the  policy  of  con- 
ciliation ?" 

"  Only  because  I'm  weak,  major — because  I'm 
weak,  and  that  I  must  live  in  the  neighborhood. 
If  I  could  pass  my  days  out  of  the  range  of  Tim's 
carbine,  I  wouldn't  reduce  him  a  shilling." 

"I  can  make  nothing  of  Ireland  or  Irishmen 
either." 

"Why  would  you?  God  help  us!  we  are 
poor  enough  and  ^vretched  enough ;  but  we're 
not  come  down  to  that  yet  that  a  major  of  dra- 
goons can  read  us  like  big  print." 

"So  far  as  I  see,  you  wish  for  a  strong  des- 
potism." 

"In  one  way  it  would  suit  us  well.  Do  you 
see,  major,  what  a  weak  administration  and  un- 
certain laws  do  ?  They  set  every  man  in  Ireland 
about  righting  himself  by  his  own  hand.  If  I 
know  I  shall  be  starved  when  I'm  turned  out  of 
my  holding,  I'm  not  at  all  so  sure  I'll  be  hanged 
if  I  shoot  my  landlord.  Make  me  as  certain  of 
one  as  the  other,  and  I'll  not  shoot  him." 

"I  believe  I  understand  you." 

"  No,  you  don't,  nor  any  cockney  amoug  you." 

"I'm  not  a  cockney." 

' '  I  don't  care ;  you're  the  same :  you're  not 
one  of  us ;  nor,  if  you  spent  fifty  years  among  us, 
would  you  understand  us." 

' '  Come  over  and  see  me  in  Berkshire,  Kear- 
ney-, and  let  me  see  if  you  can  read  our  people 
much  better. " 

"From  all  I  heai",  there's  not  much  to  read. 
Your  chawbacon  isn't  as  'cute  a  fellow  as  Pat." 

"  He's  easier  to  live  with." 

"Maybe  so;  but  I  wouldn't  care  for  a  life 
with  such  people  about  me.  I  like  human  na- 
ture and  human  feelings — ay,  human  passions, 
if  you  must  call  them  so.  I  want  to  know  I 
can  make  some  people  love  me,  though  I  well 
know  there  must  be  others  will  hate  me.  You're 
all  for  tranquillity  over  in  England — a  quiet  life 
you  call  it.  I  like  to  live  without  knowing  what's 
coming,  and  to  feel  all  the  time  that  I  know 
enough  of  the  game  to  be  able  to  play  it  as  well 
as  my  neighbors.  Do  you  follow  me  now,  ma- 
jor?" 

"  I'm  not  quite  certain  I  do." 

"No — but  I'm  quite  certain  you  don't;  and, 
indeed,  I  wonder  at  myself  talking  to  you  about 
these  things  at  all." 

"  I'm  much  gratified  that  you  do  so.  In  fact, 
Kearney,  you  give  me  courage  to  speak  a  little 
about  myself  and  my  own  affairs ;  and,  if  you 
will  allow  me,  to  ask  your  advice."   ' 

This  was  an  unusually  long  speech  for  the 
major,  and  he  actually  seemed  fatigued  when  he 
concluded.  He  was,  however,  consoled  for  his 
exertions  by  seeing  what  pleasure  his  words  had 
conferred  on  Kearney,  and  with  what  racy  self- 
satisfaction  that  gentleman  heard  himself  men- 
tioned as  a  "wise  opinion." 

"I  believe  I  do  know  a  little  of  life,  major," 
said  he,  sententiously.  "  As  old  Giles  Dackson 
used  to  say,  '  Get  Maurice  Kearney  to  tell  you 
what  he  thinks  of  it.'     You  knew  Giles?" 

"No." 

"  Well,  you've  heard  of  him  ?  No !  not  even 
that.  There's  another  proof  of  what  I  was  say- 
ing— we're  two  people,  the  English  and  the  Irish, 
[f  it  wasn't  sc^  you'd  be  no  stranger  to  the  say- 
ings and  doings  of  one  of  the  'cutest  men  that 
ever  lived." 


"We  have  witty  fellows  too." 

"No,  you  haven't!  Do  you  call  your  House 
of  Commons'  jokes  wit  ?  Are  the  stories  you  tell 
at  your  hustings'  speeches  wit?  Is  there  one 
over  there" — and  he  pointed  in  the  direction  of 
England — "that  ever  made  a  smait  repartee  or 
a  brilliant  answer  to  any  one  about  any  thing? 
You  now  and  then  tell  an  Irish  story,  and  you 
forget  the  point;  or  you  quote  a  French  'mot,' 
and  leave  out  the  epigram.  Don't  be  angry — 
it's  truth  I'm  telling  you." 

"I'm  not  angry ;  though,  I  must  say,  I  don't 
think  you  are  fair  to  us." 

"The  last  bit  of  brilliancy  you  had  in  the 
House  was  Brinsley  Sheridan — and  there  wasn't 
much  English  about  him." 

"  I've  never  heard  that  the  famous  O'Connell 
used  to  convulse  the  House  with  his  drollery." 

' '  Why  should  he  ?  Didn't  he  know  where  he 
was  ?  Do  you  imagine  that  O'Connell  was  going 
to  do  like  poor  Lord  Killeen,  who  shipped  a  car- 
go of  coal-scuttles  to  Africa  ?" 

"Will  you  explain  to  me,  then,  how,  if  j'ou 
are  so  much  shrewder  and  wittier  and  cleverer 
than  us,  that  it  does  not  make  you  richer,  more 
prosperous,  and  more  contented  ?" 

"  I  could  do  that  too,  but  I'm  losing  the  birds. 
There's  a  cock  now.  Well  done!  I  see  you 
can  shoot  a  bit.  Look  here,  major,  there's  a 
deal  in  race — in  the  blood  of  a  people.  It's  very 
hard  to  make  a  light  -hearted,  joyous  people 
thrifty.  It's  your  sullen  fellow,  that  never  cuts  a 
joke,  nor  wants  any  one  to  laugh  at  it,  that's  the 
man  who  saves.  If  you're  a  wit,  you  want  an 
audience,  and  the  best  audience  is  round  a  din- 
ner-table ;  and  we  know  what  that  costs.  Now 
Ireland  has  been  very  pleasant  for  the  last  hun- 
dred and  fifty  years  in  that  fashion,  and  you,  and 
scores  of  other  low-spirited,  depressed  fellows, 
come  over  here  to  pluck  up  and  rouse  yourselves, 
and  you  go  home  and  you  wonder  why  the 
people  who  amused  you  were  not  always  as  jolly 
as  you  saw  them.  I've  known  this  country  now 
nigh  sixty  years,  and  I  never  knew  a  turn  of 
prosperity  that  didn't  make  us  stupid  ;  and,  upon 
my  conscience,  I  believe,  if  we  ever  begin  to  grow 
rich,  we'll  not  be  a  bit  better  than  yourselves." 

"  That  would  be  very  dreadful,"  said  the  oth- 
er, in  mock  horror. 

"So  it  would,  whether  you  mean  it  or  not. 
There's  a  hare  missed  this  time!" 

"  I  was  thinking  of  something  I  wanted  to  ask 
you.  The  fact  is,  Kearney,  I  have  a  thing  on 
my  mind  now." 

"Is  it  a  duel?  It's  many  a  day  since  I  was 
out,  but  I  used  to  know  every  step  of  the  way  as 
well  as  most  men." 

"No;  it's  not  a  duel!" 

"  It's  money,  then !  Bother  it  for  money. 
What  a  deal  of  bad  blood  it  leads  to !  Tell  me 
all  about  it,  and  I'll  see  if  I  can't  deal  with  it." 

"No,  it's  not  money;  it  has  nothing  to  do 
with  money.  I'm  not  hard  up.  I  was  never 
less  so." 

"Indeed!"  cried  Kearney,  staring  at  him. 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"I  was  curious  to  see  how  a  man  looks,  and 
I'd  like  to  know  how  he  feels,  that  didn't  want 
money.  I  can  no  more  understand  it  than  if  a 
man  told  me  he  didn't  want  air." 

"If  he  had  enough  to  breathe  freely,  could  he 
need  more  ?" 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


188 


"That  would  depend  on  the  rise  of  his  lungs, 

.-mkI  I  believe  mine  are  pretty  big.  Bat  come  now, 
if  there's  nobody  yon  want  to  shoot,  and  yon 
have  a  good  balance  at  the  banker's,  what  can 
ail  von,  except  it's  a  girl  you  want  to  marry,  and 

she  won't  have  you?" 

•'  Well,  there  is  a  lady  in  the  case." 

"Ay,  ay!  she's  a  married  woman,"  cried 
Kearney,  closing  one  eye.  and  looking  intensely 
conning.  "  Then  I  may  tell  you  at  once,  major, 
Tin  no  use  to  you  whatever.  If  it  was  a  young 
girl  that  liked  you  against  the  wish  of  her  family, 
or  that  you  were  in  love  with  though  she  was 
below  you  in  condition,  or  that  was  promised  to 
another  man  but  wanted  to  get  out  of  her  bar- 
gain, I'm  good  for  any  of  these,  or  scores  more 
of  the  same  kind  ;  but  if  it's  mischief,  and  mis- 
ery, and  life-long  sorrow  you  have  in  your  head, 
you  must  look  out  for  another  adviser." 

"It's  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  the  other,  ' 
bluntly.  "  It's  marriage  I  was  thinking  of.  I 
want  to  settle  down  and  have  a  wife." 

•■  And  why  couldn't  you,  if  you  think  it  would 
be  any  comfort  to  you  ?"  The  last  words  were  [ 
rather  uttered  than  spoken,  and  sounded  like  a  j 
sad  reflection  uttered  aloud. 

"I'm  not  a  rich  man,"  said  the  major,  with 
that  strain  it  always  cost  him  to  speak  of  him- 
self, "but  I  have  got  enough  to  live  on.  A 
goodish  old  house,  and  a  small  estate,  underlet 
as  it  is,  bringing  me  about  two  thousand  a  year, 
and  some  expectations,  as  they  call  them,  from 
an  old  grand-aunt.'' 

"You  have  enough,  if  you  marry  a  prudent 
girl,"  muttered  Kearney,  who  was  never  happier 
than  when  advocating  moderation  and  discretion. 

"  Enough,  at  least,  not  to  look  for  money 
with  a  wife." 

"I'm  with  you  there,  heart  and  soul,"  cried 
Kearney.  "  Of  all  the  shabby  inventions  of  our 
civilization,  I  don't  know  one  as  mean  as  that 
custom  of  giving  a  marriage-portion  with  a  girl. 
Is  it  to  induce  a  man  to  take  her  ?  Is  it  to  pay 
for  her  board  and  lodging?  Is  it  because  mar- 
riage is  a  partnership,  and  she  must  bring  her  I 
share  into  the  '  concern  ?'  or  is  it  to  provide  for 
the  day  when  they  are  to  part  company,  and  I 
each  go  his  own  road?  Take  it  how  you  like, 
it's  bad  and  it's  shabby.  If  you're  rich  enough 
to  give  your  daughter  twenty  or  thirty  thousand  I 
pounds,  wait  for  some  little  family  festival — her  ! 
birthday,  or  her  husband's  birthday,  or  a  Christ- 
mas gathering,  or  maybe  a  christening — and  pnt 
the  notes  in  her  hand.  Oh,  major  dear,"  cried 
lie,  aloud,  "  if  you  knew  how  much  of  life  you 
lose  with  lawyers,  and  what  a  deal  of  bad  blood 
comes  into  the  world  by  parchments,  you'd  see 
the  wisdom  of  trusting  more  to  human  kindness 
and  good  feeling,  and,  above  all,  to  the  honor 
of  gentlemen — things  that  nowadays  we  always 
hope  to  secure  by  Act  of  Parliament." 

"  I  go  with  a  great  deal  of  what  you  say." 

"Why  not  with  all  of  it?  What  do  we  gain 
by  trying  to  overreach  each  other?  What  ad- 
vantage in  a  system  where  it's  always  the  rogue 
that  wins?  If  I  was  a  king  to-morrow,  I'd  rath- 
er fine  a  fellow  for  quoting  Blackstone  than  for 
blasphemy,  and  I'd  distribute  all  the  law  libra- 
ries in  the  kingdom  as  cheap  fuel  for  the  ] r. 

We  pray  for  peace  and  quietness,  and  we  educate 
a  special  class  of  people  to  keep  us  always  wran- 
gling.    Where's  the  sense  of  that  ?" 


While  Kearney  poured  out  these  WOrdl  in  a 
flow   of  fervid  conviction,  they  had  arrived  at    a 

little  open  spare  in  the  wood,  from  which  vari- 
ous alleys  led  oil' in  dill'erent  directions.      Along 

one  of  these  two  figures  were  slowly  moving  side 
by  side,  whom  Lockwood  quickly  recognized  as 

Walpole  and  Nina  Kostalergi.  Kearney  did  not 
see  them,  for  bis  attention  was  suddenly  called 
Off  by  a  shout  from  a  distance,  and  bis  BOO  Dick 
rode  hastily  up  to  the  spot.  "I  have  been  in 
search  of  yon  all  through  the  plantation,"  cried 
he.  "  I  have  brought  back  Holmes,  the  lawyer, 
from  Tullaniore,  who  wants  to  talk  to  you  about 
this  affair  of  Gorman's.  It's  going  to  be  a  bad 
business,  I  fear." 

"  Isn't  that  more  of  what  I  was  saying  ?"  said 
the  old  man,  turning  to  the  major.  "There's 
law  for  you!" 

"  They  are  making  what  they  call  a  '  National' 
event  of  it,"  continued  Dick.  "The  Pike  has 
opened  a  column  of  subscriptions  to  defray  the 
cost  of  proceedings,  and  they've  engaged  Batters- 
by  with  a  hundred-guinea  retainer  already.'' 

It  appeared  from  what  tidings  Dick  brought 
back  from  the  town  that  the  Nationalists — to 
give  them  the  much  unmerited  name  by  which 
they  called  themselves — wrere  determined  to  show 
how  they  could  dictate  to  a  jury. 

"There's  law  for  you!"  cried  the  old  man 
again. 

"  You'll  have  to  take  to  vigilance  committees, 
like  the  Yankees,"  said  the  major. 

"We've  had  them  for  years;  but  they  only- 
shoot  their  political  opponents." 

"They  say,  too,"  broke  in  the  young  man, 
"  that  Donogan  is  in  the  town,  and  that  it  is  he 
who  has  organized  the  whole  prosecution.  In 
fact,  he  intends  to  make  Battersby's  speech  for 
the  plaintiff  a  great  declaration  of  the  wrongs  of 
Ireland  ;  and  as  Battersby  hates  the  Chief  Baron, 
who  will  try  the  cause,  he  is  determined  to  insult 
the  Bench,  even  at  the  cost  of  a  commitment." 

"  What  will  he  gain  by  that  ?"  asked  Lock- 
wood. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  he'll  gain — he'll  gain  the 
election  of  Mallow,"  said  Kearney.  "  Every  one 
can  not  have  a  father  that  was  hanged  in  '98; 
but  any  one  can  go  to  jail  for  blackguarding  a 
Chief  Justice." 

For  a  moment  or  two  the  old  man  seemed 
ashamed  at  having  been  led  to  make  these  con- 
fessions to  "the  Saxon,"  and  telling  Lockwood 
where  he  would  be  likely  to  find  a  brace  of  cork-. 
he  took  his  son's  arm  and  turned  homeward. 


CHAPTER  LXXVI. 

VERY    CONFIDENTIAL    CONVERSATION. 

When  Lockwood  returned,  only  in  time  to 
dress  lor  dinner,  Walpole,  whose  room  adjoined 
his,  threw  open  the  door  between  them  and  en- 
tered. He  had  just  accomplished  a  monl  careful 
"  tie,"  and  came  in  with  the  air  of  one  burly  Belf- 
sati-tied  and  happy. 

•'  You  look  quite  triumphant  this  evening." 
said  the  major,  half  sulkily. 

"  So  I  am,  old  fellow  ;  and  so  I  have  a  right 
to  be.      It's  all  done  and  settled." 

"  Already  ?" 

"Ay.  already.      I   asked  her  to  take  a  Stroll 


181 


LORD  KILGOBBIX. 


with  me  in  the  garden  ;  but  we  sauntered  offinto 
the  plantation.  A  woman  always  understands 
the  exact  amount  of  meaning  a  man  has  in  a  re- 
quest of  this  kind,  and  her  instinct  reveals  to  her 
at  once  whether  he  is  eager  to  tell  her  some  bit 
of  fatal  scandal  of  one  of  her  friends,  or  to  make 
her  a  declaration." 

A  sort  of  sulky  grunt  was  Lockwood's  ac- 
knowledgment of  this  piece  of  abstract  wisdom 
— a  sort  of  knowledge  he  never  listened  to  with 
much  patience. 

"  I  am  aware,"  said  Walpole,  flippantly,  "  the 
female  nature  was  an  omitted  part  in  your  edu- 
cation, Lockwood  ;  and  you  take  small  interest 
in  those  nice  distinctive  traits  which,  to  a  man  of 
the  world,  are  exactly  what  the  stars  are  to  the 
mariner." 

"Finding  out  what  a  woman  means  by  the 
stars  does  seem  very  poor  fan." 

"'Perhaps  you  prefer  the  moon  for  your  ob- 
servation," replied  Walpole  ;  and  the  easy  imper- 
tinence of  his  manner  was  almost  too  much  for 
the  other's  patience. 

"I  don't  care  for  your  speculations — I  want 
to  hear  what  passed  between  you  and  the  Greek 
girl." 

"  The  Greek  girl  will  in  a  very  few  days  be 
Mrs.  "Walpole,  and  I  shall  crave  a  little  more  def- 
erence for  the  mention  of  her." 

"I  forgot  her  name,  or  I  should  not  have  call- 
ed her  with  such  freedom.     What  is  it  ?" 

';  Kostalergi.  Her  father  is  Kostalergi,  Prince 
of  Delos." 

"All  right;  it  will  read  well  in  the  Post." 

"My  dear  friend,  there  is  that  amount  of 
sarcasm  in  your  conversation  this  evening  that 
to  a  plain  man  like  myself,  never  ready  at  reply, 
and  easily  subdued  by  ridicule,  is  positively  over- 
whelming. Has  any  disaster  befallen  you  that 
you  are  become  so  satirical  and  severe?" 

'•Never  mind  me — tell  me  about  yourself," 
was  the  blunt  reply. 

"  I  have  not  the  slightest  objection.  "When 
we  had  walked  a  little  way  together,  and  I  felt 
that  we  were  beyond  the  risk  of  interruption,  I 
led  Iter  to  the  subject  of  my  sudden  reappear- 
ance here,  and  implied  that  she,  at  least,  could 
not  have  felt  much  surprise.  '  You  remember,' 
said  I,  '1  promised  to  return  ?' 

"'There  is  something  so  conventional,'  said 
she,  '  in  these  pledges  that  one  comes  to  read 
them  like  the  "yours  sincerely"  at  the  foot  of  a 
letter.' 

"  '  I  ask  for  nothing  better,'  said  I,  taking  her 
up  on  her  own  words,  'than  to  be  "yours  sin- 
cerely."' It  is  to  ratify  that  pledge  by  making 
you  "mine  sincerely"  that  I  am  here.' 

"  '  Indeed  !'  said  she,  slowly,  and  looking  down. 

" '  I  swear  it !'  said  I,  kissing  her  hand,  which, 
however,  had  a  glove  on." 

"Why  not  her  cheek  ?" 

' '  That  is  not  done,  major  mine,  at  such  times. " 

"  Well,  go  on." 

"  I  can't  recall  the  exact  words,  for  I  spoke 
rapidly  ;  but  I  told  her  I  was  named  minister  at 
a  foreign  court,  that  my  future  career  was  as- 
sured, and  that  I  was  able  to  offer  her  a  station, 
not,  indeed,  equal  to  her  deserts,  but  that,  occu- 
pied by  her,  would  only  be  less  than  royal." 

"At  Guatemala!"  exclaimed  the  other,  deri- 
sively. 

"•  Have  the  kindness  to  keep  your  geography 


to  yourself,"  said  Walpole.  "  I  merely  said  in 
South  America,  and  she  had  too  much  delicacy 
to  ask  more." 

"  But  she  said  yes  ?     She  consented  ?" 

"  Yes,  Sir,  she  said  she  would  venture  to  com- 
mit her  future  to  my  charge." 

"Didn't  she  ask  you  what  means  you  had? 
what  was  your  income  ?" 

"Not  exactly  in  the  categorical  way  you  put 
it,  but  she  alluded  to  the  possible  style  we  should 
live  in." 

"  I'll  swear  she  did.  That  girl  asked  you,  in 
plain  words,  how  many  hundreds  or  thousands 
you  had  a  year?" 

"And  I  told  her.  I  said,  '  It  sounds  humbly, 
dearest,  to  tell  you  we  shall  not  have  fully  two 
thousand  a  year  ;  but  the  place  we  are  going  to 
is  the  cheapest  in  the  universe,  and  we  shall  have 
a  small  establishment  of  not  more  than  forty  black 
and  about  a  dozen  white  servants,  and  at  first 
only  keep  twenty  horses,  taking  our  carriages  on 
job.'" 

"  What  about  pin-money  ?" 

"There  is  not  much  extravagance  in  toilet, 
and  so  I  said  she  must  manage  with  a  thousand 
a  year." 

"  And  she  didn't  laugh  in  your  face  ?" 

"  No,  Sir;  nor  was  there  any  strain  upon  her 
good-breeding  to  induce  her  to  laugh  in  my  face." 

"  At  all  events,  you  discussed  the  matter  in  a 
fine  practical  spirit.  Did  you  go  into  groceries  ? 
I  hope  you  did  not  forget  groceries  ?" 

"  My  dear  Lockwood,  let  me  warn  you  against 
being  droll.  You  ask  me  for  a  correct  narrative, 
and  when  I  give  it  you  will  not  restrain  that  sub- 
tile sarcasm  the  mastery  of  which  makes  you  un- 
assailable." 

"  When  is  it  to  be?  When  is  it  to  come  off? 
Has  she  to  write  to  his  Serene  Highness  the 
Prince  of  What's-his-name  ?" 

"No,  the  Prince  of  What's-his-name  need 
not  be  consulted.  Lord  Kilgobbin  will  stand  in 
the  position  of  father  to  her." 

Lockwood  muttered  something,  in  which  "Give 
her  away!"  were  the  only  words  audible.  "I 
must  say,"  added  he,  aloud,  "the  wooing  did  not 
take  long." 

"You  forget  that  there  was  an  actual  engage- 
ment between  us  when  I  left  this  for  London. 
My  circumstances  at  that  time  did  not  permit  me 
to  ask  her  at  once  to  be  my  wife ;  but  our  affec- 
tions were  pledged,  and — even  if  more  tender 
sentiments  did  not  determine — my  feeling,  as  a 
man  of  honor,  required  I  should  come  back  here 
to  make  her  this  offer." 

"All  right;  I  suppose  it  will  do — I  hope  it 
will  do ;  and,  after  all,  I  take  it,  you  are  likely 
to  understand  each  other  better  than  others 
would." 

"Such  is  our  impression  and  belief." 

"  How  will  your  own  people — how  will  Danes- 
bury  like  it?" 

"  For  their  sakes  I  trust  they  will  like  it  very 
much  ;  for  mine,  it  is  less  than  a  matter  of  indif- 
ference to  me." 

"  She,  however — she  will  expect  to  be  properly 
'  received  among  them  ?" 

"Yes,"  cried  Walpole,  speaking  for  the  first 
I  time  in  a  perfectly  natural  tone,  divested  of  all 
1  pomposity.  "  Yes,  she  stickles  for  that,  Lock- 
wood.  It  was  the  one  point  she  seemed  to  stand 
out  for.     Of  course  I  told  her  she  would  be  re- 


LOUD  KILOOBIWN. 


is: 


ceived  with  open  arm-;  by  my  relatives — that  my 
family  would  be  overjoyed  to  receive  her  aa  one 
of  them.  I  only  hinted  that  my  lord's  goal 
might  prevent  him  from  being  at  the  wedding. 
I'm  not  sure  Uncle  Danesbnry  would  not  conic 
over.  'And  the  charming  Lady  Maude,'  asked 
she,    'would   she  honor   me   so    far   as    to    he    a 

bride-maid  ?' " 

••  She  didn't  say  that  ?" 

••She  did.  She  actually  pushed  me  to  prom- 
ise I  should  ask  her." 

'•  Which  you  never  would." 

••tit'  that  I  will  not  affirm  I  am  quite  positive  ; 
l>ut  I  certainly  intend  to  press  my  uncle  for  some 
sort  of  recognition  of  the  marriage — a  civil  note  ; 
better  still,  if  it  could  he  managed,  an  invitation 
to  his  house  in  town." 

"You  are  a  hold  fellow  to  think  of  it, " 

"  Not  so  hold  as  you  imagine.  Have  you  not 
often  remarked  that  when  a  man  of  good  connec- 
tions is  about  to  exile  himself  by  accepting  a  far- 
away post,  whether  it  be  out  of  pure  compassion 
or  a  feeling  that  it  need  never  he  done  again, 
and  that  they  are  about  to  see  the  last  of  him, 
hut,  somehow — whatever  the  reason — his  friends 
are  marvelously  civil  and  polite  to  him,  just  as 
some  benevolent  but  eccentric  folk  send  a  par- 
tridge to  the  condemned  felon  for  his  last  din- 
ner ?" 

"They  do  that  in  France." 

"  Here  it  would  he  a  rump-steak ;  but  the  sen- 
timent is  the  same.  At  all  events,  the  thing  is 
a>  I  told  yon,  and  I  do  not  despair  of  Danes- 
bury." 

"  For  the  letter,  perhaps  not;  but  he'll  never 
ask  you  to  Bruton  Street,  nor,  if  he  did,  could 
you  accept." 

'•  You  are  thinking  of  Lady  Maude." 

••  1  am." 

"  There  would  be  no  difficulty  in  that  quar- 
ter. When  a  Whig  becomes  Tory,  or  a  Tory 
Whig,  the  gentlemen  of  the  party  he  has  desert- 
ed never  take  umbrage  in  the  same  way  as  the 
vulgar  dogs  below  the  gangway ;  so  it  is  in  the 
world.  The  people  who  must  meet,  must  dine 
together,  sit  side  by  side  at  flower-shows  and 
garden-parties,  always  manage  to  do  their  ha- 
treds decorously,  and  only  pay  off  their  dislikes 
by  installments.  If  Lady  .Maude  were  to  receive 
my  wife  at  all,  it  would  he  with  a  most  winning 
politeuess.  All  her  malevolence  would  limit  it- 
self to  making  the  supposed  under-bred  woman 
commit  a  '  gaucherie,'  to  do  or  say  something 
that  ought  not  to  have  been  done  or  said;  and 
as  I  know  Nina  can  stand  the  test,  I  have  no 
fears  for  the  experiment." 

A  knock  at  the  door  apprised  them  that  the  din- 
ner was  waiting,  neither  having  heard  the  hell 
which  had  summoned  them  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
before.  "And  I  wanted  to  hear  all  about  your 
JS,"  cried  Walpole,  as  they  descended"  the 
staircase  together. 

'•  I  have  none  to  report,"  was  the  gruff  reply. 

•■  Why,  surely  you  have  not  passed  the  whole 
day  in  Kearney's  company  without  some  hint  of 
what  you  came  here  for?" 

But  at  the  same  moment  they  were  in  the  din- 
ing-room. 

"  We  are  a  man-party  to-day,  I  am  sorry  to 
say," cried  old  Kearney,  as  they  entered.  ■*  mv 
niece  and  my  daughter  are  keeping  Miss  O'Shea 
■   in;  any  up  -tails.      She  is  not  well  enough   to 


;,,!,- 


come  down   to  dinner,    and   they   bavi 
about  leaving  her  in  Bolitude,  " 

••  At  least  we  II  have  a  cigar  after  dinner,"  was 

Dick's  ungallant  reflection  as  they  moved  away. 


CHAPTEB  LXXYII. 

TWO   Votm;    LADIES   u.n    MATRIMONY, 

"  I  HOPE  they  had  a  pleasanter  dinner  down 
stairs  than  we  have  had  here,"  said  Nina,  as.  ai'i 

er  wishing  Miss  O'Shea  a  good-night,  the  young 

girls  slowly  mounted  the  stairs. 

"  Poor  old  godmother  was  too  sad  and  too  de- 
pressed to  he  cheerful  company;  but  did  she  not 
talk  well  and  sensibly  on  the  condition  of  the 
country  ?  was  it  not  well  said,  when  she  showed 
the  danger  of  all  that  legislation  which,  assuming 
to  establish  right,  oidy  engenders  disunion  and 
class  jealousy?" 

"1  never  followed  her;  I  was  thinking  of 
something  else." 

"She  was  worth  listening  to,  then.  She 
knows  the  people  well,  and  she  sees  all  the  mis- 
chief of  tampering  with  natures  so  imbued  with 
distrust.  The  Irishman  is  a  gambler,  and  En- 
glish law-makers  are  always  exciting  him  to 
play." 

"It  seems  to  me  there  is  very  little  on  the 
game." 

"  There  is  every  thing — home,  family,  subsist- 
ence, life  it-elf,  all  that  a  man  can  care  for." 

"Never  mind  these  tiresome  themes.  Come 
into  my  room — or  I'll  go  to  yours,  for  I'm  sure 
you've  a  better  fire ;  besides,  I  can  walk  away  it' 
you  offend  me  ;  I  mean  offend  beyond  endurance, 
for  you  an  sure  to  say  something  cutting." 

"  I  hope  you  wrong  me,  Nina." 

"  Perhaps  I  do.  Indeed.  I  half  suspect  I  do  ; 
but  the  fact  is,  it  is  not  your  words  that  reproach 
me,  it  is  your  whole  life  of  usefulness  is  my  re- 
proach, and  the  least  syllable  you  utter  comes 
charged  with  all  the  responsibility  of  one  who 
has  a  duty  and  does  it,  to  a  mere  good-for-noth- 
ing.    There,  is  not  that  humility  enough  ?" 

"  More  than  enough,  for  it  goes  to  flattery." 

"I'm  not  a  hit  sure  all  the  time  that  I'm  not 
the  more  lovable  creature  of  the  two.  If  you 
like,  I'll  put  it  to  the  vote  at  breakfast." 

"Oh,  Nina!" 

"  Very  shocking— that's  the  phrase  for  it — very 
shocking!  Oh  dear,  what  a  nice  lire,  and  what 
a  nice  little  snug  room!  How  is  it,  will  you  tell 
me,  that  though  my  room  is  much  larger  and 
hetter  furnished  in  every  way,  your  room  is  al- 
ways brighter  and  neater,  and  more  like  a  little 
home  ?  They  letch  you  drier  lire-wood,  and  they 
bring  you  flowers,  wherever  they  get  them.  1 
know  well  what  devices  of  roguery  they  practice." 

"  Shall  I  give  you  tea?" 

"Of  course  I'll  have  tea.  I  expect  to  he  treat- 
ed like  a  favored  guest  in  all  things,  and  I  mean 
to  take  this  arm-chair,  and  the  nice  gofi  cushion 
for  my  feet,  for  I  warn  you,  Kate.  I'm  here  far 
two  hours.  I've  an  immense  deal  to  tell  you, 
and  I'll  not  go  till  it's  told." 

"I'll  DOl   turn  you  out." 

"I'll   take  care  of  that;    I  have  not  lived  in 
Ireland  for   nothing.       I   have   a  proper  Bet) 
what  is  meant    by   possession,  and    I   defy  what 
your  great    minister   calls    a  heartless   eviction. 


J  86 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


Even  your  tea  is  nicer,  it  is  more  fragrant  than 
any  one  else's.  I  begin  to  hate  you  out  of  sheer 
jealousy." 

"  That  is  about  the  last  feeling  I  ought  to  in- 
spire. " 

"More  humility;,  but  I'll  drop  rudeness  and 
tell  you  my  story,  for  I  have  a  story  to  tell.  Are 
you  listening?  Are  you  attentive?  Well,  my; 
Mr.  Walpole,  as  you  called  him  once,  is  about  to  i 
become  so  in  real  earnest.  I  could  have  made  a  j 
long  narrative  of  it  and  held  you  in  weary  sus- 
pense, but  I  prefer  to  dash  at  once  into  the  thick 
of  the  fray,  and  tell  you  that  he  has  this  morning 
made  me  a  formal  proposal,  and  I  have  accepted 
him.  Be  pleased  to  bear  in  mind  that  this  is  no 
case  of  a  misconception  or  a  mistake.  No  young 
gentleman  has  been  petting  and  kissing  my  hand  i 
for  another's ;  no  tender  speeches  have  been  ut- 
tered to  the  ears  they  were  not  meant  for.  I  I 
have  been  wooed  this  time  for  myself,  and  on  my 
own  part  I  have  said  yes. " 

"You  told  me  you  had  accepted  him  already. 
I  mean  when  he  was  here  last." 

"  Yes,  after  a  fashion.  Don't  you  know,  child, 
that  though  lawyers  maintain  that  a  promise  to 
do  a  certain  thing,  to  make  a  lease  or  some  con- 
tract, has  in  itself  a  binding  significance,  that  in 
Cupid's  Court  this  is  not  law  ?  and  the  man  knew 
perfectly  that  all  that  passed  between  us  hitherto 
had  no  serious  meaning,  and  bore  no  more  real 
relation  to  marriage  than  an  outpost  encounter 
to  a  battle.  For  all  that  has  taken  place  up  to 
this,  we  might  never  fight — I  mean  marry — after 
all.  The  sages  say  that  a  girl  should  never  be- 
lieve a  man  means  marriage  till  he  talks  money 
to  her.  Now,  Kate,  he  talked  money ;  and  I  be- 
lieved him." 

' '  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  of  these  things  se- 
riously and  without  banter." 

"  So  I  do.  Heaven  knows  I  am  in  no  jesting 
humor.  It  is  in  no  outburst  of  higli  spirits  or 
gayety  a  girl  confesses  she  is  going  to  marry  a 
man  who  has  neither  wealth  nor  station  to  offer, 
and  whose  fine  connections  are  just  fine  enough 
to  be  ashamed  of  him. " 

"Are  you  in  love  with  him?" 

"  If  you  mean,  do  I  imagine  that  this  man's 
affection  and  this  man's  companionship  are  more 
to  me  than  all  the  comforts  and  luxuries  of  life 
with  another,  I  am  not  in  love  with  him ;  but  if 
you  ask  me,  am  I  satisfied  to  risk  my  future  with 
so  much  as  I  know  of  his  temper,  his  tastes,  his 
breeding,  his  habits,  and  his  abilities,  I  incline 
to  say  yes.  Married  life,  Kate,  is  a  sort  of  diet- 
ary, and  one  should  remember  that  what  he  has 
to  eat  of  every  day  ought  not  to  be  too  appetizing. " 

' '  I  abhor  your  theory. " 

"Of  course  you  do,  child;  and  you  fancy, 
naturally  enough,  that  you  would  like  ortolans 
every  day  for  dinner;  but  my  poor  cold  Greek 
temperament  has  none  of  the  romantic  warmth 
of  your  Celtic  nature.  I  am  very  moderate  in 
my  hopes,  very  humble  in  all  my  ambitions. " 

"  It  is  not  thus  I  read  you." 

"Very  probably.  At  all  events,  I  have  con- 
sented to  be  Mr.  Walpole's  wife,  and  we  are  to 
be  Minister  Plenipotentiary  and  Special  Envoy  \ 
somewhere.  It  is  not  Bolivia,  nor  the  Argentine 
Republic,  but  some  other  fabulous  region,  where 
the  only  fact  is  yellow  fever." 

"And  you  really  like  him?" 

"I  hope  so,  for  evidently  it  must  be  on  love 


we  shall  have  to  live,  one  half  of  our  income  be- 
ing devoted  to  saddle-horses  and  the  other  to  my 
toilet. " 

"How  absurd  you  are!" 

"No,  not  I.  It  is  Mr.  Walpole  himself,  who, 
not  trusting  much  to  my  skill  at  arithmetic, 
sketched  out  this  schedule  of  expenditure ;  and 
then  I  bethought  me  how  simple  this  man  must 
deem  me.  It  was  a  flattery  that  won  me  at  once. 
Oh !  Kate,  dearest,  if  you  could  understand  the 
ecstasy  of  being  thought,  not  a  fool,  but  one  eas- 
ily duped,  easily  deceived!" 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"  It  is  this,  then,  that  to  have  a  man's  whole 
heart — whether  it  be  worth  the  having  is  another 
and  a  different  question — you  must  impress  him 
with  his  immense  superiority  in  every  thing; 
that  he  is  not  merely  physically  stronger  than 
you,  and  bolder  and  more  courageous,  but  that 
he  is  mentally  more  vigorous  and  more  able, 
judges  better,  decides  quicker,  resolves  more  ful- 
ly than  you;  and  that,  struggle  how  you  will, 
you  pass  your  life  in  eternally  looking  up  to  this 
wonderful  god,  who  vouchsafes  now  and  then  to 
caress  you,  and  even  say  tender  things  to  you." 

"  Is  it,  Nina,  that  you  have  made  a  study  of 
these  things,  or  is  all  this  mere  imagination  ?" 

"  Most  innocent  young  lady,  I  no  more  dream- 
ed of  these  things  to  apply  to  such  men  as  your 
country  furnishes — good,  homely,  commonplace 
creatures — than  I  should  have  thought  of  asking 
you  to  adopt  French  cookery  to  feed  them.  I  spoke 
of  such  men  as  one  meets  in  what  I  may  call  the 
real  world ;  as  for  the  others,  if  they  feel  life  to 
be  a  stage,  they  are  always  going  about  in  slipshod 
fashion  as  if  at  rehearsal.  Men  like  your  broth- 
er and  young  O'Shea,  for  instance — tossed  here 
and  there  by  accidents,"  made  one  thing  by  a 
chance,  and  something  else  by  a  misfortune. 
Take  my  word  for  it,  the  events  of  life  are  Very 
vulgar  things ;  the  passions  and  emotions  they 
evoke,  these  constitute  the  higli  stimulants  of  ex- 
istence, they  make  the  '  gros  jeu,'  which  it  is  so 
exciting  to  play." 

"  I  follow  you  with  some  difficulty;  but  I  am 
rude  enough  to  own  I  scarcely  regret  it." 

"  I  know  J  I  know  all  about  that  sweet  inno- 
cence that  fancies  to  ignore  any  thing  is  to  oblit- 
erate it ;  but  it's  a  fool's  paradise,  after  all,  Kate. 
We  are  in  the  world,  and  we  must  accept  it  as  it 
is  made  fdr  us." 

"  I'll  not  ask  does  your  theory  make  you  bet- 
ter, hut  does  it  make  you  happier  ?" 

"If  being  duped  were  an  element  of  bliss,  I 
should  say  certainly  not  happier,  but  I  doubt  the 
blissful  ignorance  of  your  great  moralist.  I  in- 
cline to  believe  that  the  better  you  play  any  game 
— life  among  the  rest — the  higher  the  pleasure  it 
yields.  I  can  afford  to  marry,  without  believing 
my  husband  to  be  a  paragon :  could  you  do  as 
much  ?" 

"I  should  like  to  know  that  I  preferred  him 
to  any  one  else." 

"So  should  I,  and  I  would  only  desire  to  add 
'to  every  one  else  that  asked  me.'  Tell  the 
truth,  Kate  dearest:  we  are  here  all  alone,  and 
can  afford  sincerity.  How  many  of  us  girls 
marry  the  man  we  should  like  to  marry,  and  if 
the  game  were  reversed,  and  it  were  to  be  we 
who  should  make  the  choice — the  slave  pick  out 
his  master — how  many,  think  you,  would  be  wed- 
ded to  their  present  mates  ?" 


LOUD   K1L0OHHIN. 


187 


••s.i  long  as  we  can  refase  him  we  do  not  like, 

1  can  not  tliink  our  rase  a  hard  one." 

••  Neither  should  I  if  1  could  stand  fad  at 
three-and-twenty.  The  dread  of  that  change  of 
heart  and  feeling  that  will  come,  most  come,  ten 

years  later,  drives  one  to  compromise  with  hap- 
piness, and  take  a  part  of  what  you  onee  aspired 
to  the  whole." 

"You  used  to  think  very  highly  of  Mr.  Wal- 
pole:  admired,  and  1  suspect  you  liked  him." 

"  All  true — my  opinion  is  the  same  still.  He 
will  stand  the  great  test  that  one  can  go  into  the 
world  with  him  and  not  he  ashamed  of  him.  I 
know,  dearest,  even  without  that  shake  of  the 
head,  the  small  value  you  attach  to  this,  hut  it 
is  a  great  element  in  that  droll  contract  by  which 
one  person  agrees  to  pit  his  temper  against  an- 
other's, and  which  we  are  told  is  made  in  heaven, 
with  angels  as  sponsors.  Mr.  Walpole  is  suf- 
ficiently good-looking  to  be  prepossessing;  he  is 
well-bred,  very  courteous,  converses  extremely 
well,  knows  his  exact  place  in  life,  and  takes  it 
qnietly  hut  firmly.  All  these  are  of  value  to  his 
wife,  and  it  is  not  easy  to  overrate  them." 

••  Is  that  enough  ?" 

"  Enough  for  what  ?  If  you  mean  for  romantic 
love,  for  the  infatuation  that  defies  all  change  of 
sentiment,  all  growth  of  feeling,  that  revels  in  the 
thought  that  experience  will  not  make  us  wiser, 
nor  daily  associations  less  admiring,  it  is  not 
enough.  I,  however,  am  content  to  hid  for  a  much 
humbler  lot.  I  want  a  husband  who,  if  he  can 
not  give  me  a  brilliant  station,  will  at  least  secure 
me  a  good  position  in  life,  a  reasonable  share 
of  vulgar  comforts,  some  luxuries,  and  the  ordi- 
nary routine  of  what  are  called  pleasures.  If,  in 
affording  me  these,  he  will  vouchsafe  to  add  good 
temper  and  not  high  spirits — which  are  detest- 
able— but  fair  spirits,  I  think  I  can  promise  him 
not  that  I  shall  make  him  happy,  but  that  he 
will  make  himself  so,  and  it  will  afford  me  much 
gratification  to  see  it." 

••Is  this  real,  or — " 

"  Or  what  ?     Say  what  was  on  your  lips." 

"Or  are  you  utterly  heartless?"  cried  Kate, 
with  an  effort  that  covered  her  face  with  blushes. 

"I  don't  think  I  am,"  said  she,  oddly  and 
calmly  ;  "  but  all  I  have  seen  of  life  teaches  me 
that  even-  betrayal  of  a  feeling  or  a  sentiment  is 
like  what  gamblers  call  showing  your  hand,  and 
is  sure  to  be  taken  advantage  of  by  the  other 
players.  It's  an  ugly  illustration,  dear  Kate, 
but  in  this  same  round  game  we  call  life  there  is 
so  much  cheating  that  if  you  can  not  afford  to  be 
pillaged,  you  must  be  prudent." 

"  I  am  glad  to  feel  that  I  can  believe  you  to  be 
much  better  than  you  make  yourself." 

"Do  so — and  as  long  as  you  can." 

There  was  a  pause  of  several  moments  after 
this,  each  apparently  following  out  her  own 
thoughts. 

"  By-the-way,"  cried  Nina,  suddenly,  "did  I 
tell  you  that  .Mary  wished  me  joy  this  morning? 
She  had  overheard  Mr.  O'Shea's  declaration,  and 
believed  he  had  asked  me  to  be  his  wife." 

'"How  absurd!''  said  Kate;  and  there  was 
anger  as  well  as  shame  in  her  look  as  she 
said  it. 

"  Of  course  it  was  absurd.  She  evidently  nev- 
er suspected  to  whom  she  was  speaking,  and 
then — "  She  stopped,  for  a  quick  glance  at 
Kate's  face  warned  her  of  the  peril  she  was  graz- 


ing. "  I  told  the  girl  she  was  a  fool,  and  fur- 
bade  her  to  speak  of  tlic  matter  to  an\  ," 

"It  is  a  Bervants'-hall  story  already,"  said 
Kate,  qnietly. 

"  Do  yon  care  for  that  ?" 

"  Not  much  ;    three  days  will  see  the  end  of  it." 

"  I  declare,  in  your  own  homely  way,  I  believe 
you  are  the  wiser  of  the  two  of  us." 

"  My  common-sense  is  of  the  very  common. 
est,"  said  Kate,  laughing;  "there  is  nothing 
subtile  nor  even  mat  about  it." 

"Let  us  see  that!  Give  me  a  counsel,  or 
rather,  say  if  you  agree  with  me.  I  have  ask- 
ed Mr.  Walpole  to  show  me  how  his  family  ac- 
cept my  entrance  among  them  ;  witli  what  grace 
they  receive  me  as  a  relative.  One  of  his  cous- 
ins called  me  the  Oreek  girl,  and  in  my  own 
hearing.  It  is  not,  then,  overcaution  on  my 
part  to  inquire  how  they  mean  to  regard  me. 
Tell  me,  however,  Kate,  how  far  you  concur  with 
me  in  this.  I  should  like  much  to  hear  how 
your  good  sense  regards  the  question.  Should 
you  have  done  as  I  have?" 

"  Answer  me  first  one  question.  If  you  should 
learn  that  these  great  folks  would  not  welcome 
you  among  them,  would  you  still  consent  to 
marry  Mr.  Walpole?" 

"  I'm  not  sure,  I  am  not  quite  certain,  but  I 
almost  believe  I  should." 

"I  have,  then,  no  counsel  to  give  you,"  said 
Kate,  firmly.  "Two  people  who  see  the  same 
object  differently  can  not  discuss  its  proportions." 

"  I  see  my  blunder,"  cried  Nina,  impetuously. 
"  I  put  my  question  stupidly.  I  should  have 
said,  'If  a  girl  has  won  a  man's  affections  and 
given  him  her  own — if  she  feels  her  heart  has  no 
other  home  than  in  his  keeping — that  she  lives 
for  him  and  by  him — should  she  be  deterred  from 
joining  her  fortunes  to  his  because  he  has  some 
fine  connections  who  would  like  to  see  him  mar- 
ry more  advantageously?'"  It  needed  not  the 
saucy  curl  of  her  lip  as  she  spoke  to  declare  how 
every  word  was  uttered  in  sarcasm.  "  Why  will 
you  not  answer  me  ?"  cried  she  at  length  ;  and 
"her  eyes  shot  glances  of  fiery  impatience  as  she 
said  it. 

"  Our  distinguished  friend  Mr.  Atlee  is  to  ar- 
rive to-morrow,  Dick  tells  me,"  said  Kate,  with 
the  calm  tone  of  one  who  would  not  permit  her- 
self to  be  ruffled. 

"  Indeed !  If  your  remark  has  any  apropos  at 
all,  it  must  mean  that  in  marrying  such  a  man  as 
he  is  one  might  escape  all  the  difficulties  of  fam- 
ily coldness,  and  I  protest,  as  I  think  of  it,  the 
matter  has  its  advantages." 

A  faint  smile  was  all  Kate's  answer. 

"  I  can  not  make  you  angry  :  I  have  done  my 
best,  and  it  has  failed.  I  am  utterly  discomfit- 
ed, ami  I'll  go  to  bed." 

"Good-night,"  said  Kate,  as  she  held  out  her 
hand. 

"I  wonder  is  it  nice  to  have  this  angelic  tem- 
pefament — to    lie   always    right    in    one's    judg- 

nis.  ami  never  carried  away  by  passion?     I 

half  suspect  perfection  dues  not  mean  perfect 
happiness." 
"You  shall  tell  me  when  you  are  married,' 

said  Kate,  with  a  laugh  ;  and  Nina  darted  a 
flashing  glance  toward  her,  and  swept  out  of  the 
room. 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


CHAPTER  LXXVIII. 

A     MISERABLE     MORNING. 

It  was  not  without  considerable  heart-sinking 
and  misgiving  that  old  Kearney  heard  that  it  was 
Miss  Betty  O'Shea's  desire  to  have  some  conver- 
sation with  him  after  breakfast.  He  was,  in- 
deed, reassured  to  a  certain  extent  by  his  daugh- 
ter telling  him  that  the  old  lady  was  excessive- 
ly weak,  and  that  her  cough  was  almost  inces- 
sant, and  that  she  spoke  with  extreme  diffi- 
culty. All  the  comfort  that  these  assurances 
gave  him  was  dashed  by  a  settled  conviction  of 
Miss  Betty's  subtlety.  "  She's  like  one  of  the 
wild  foxes  they  have  in  Crim  Tartary,  and 
when  you  think  they  are  dead,  they're  up  and  at 
you  before  you  can  look  round."  He  affirmed 
no  more  than  the  truth  when  he  said  that  "  he'd 
rather  walk  barefoot  to  Kilbeggan  than  go  up 
that  stair  to  see  her." 

There  was  a  strange  conflict  in  his  mind  all 
this  time  between  these  ignoble  fears  and  the 
efforts  he  was  making  to  seem  considerate  and 
gentle  by  Kate's  assurance  that  a  cruel  word,  or 
even  a  harsh  tone,  would  be  sure  to  kill  her. 
"You'll  have  to  be  very  careful,  pnpa  dearest," 
she  said.  "  Her  nerves  are  completely  shattered, 
and  every  respiration  seems  as  if  it  would  be  the 
last." 

Mistrust  was,  however,  so  strong  in  him  that 
he  would  have  employed  any  subterfuge  to  avoid 
the  interview ;  but  the  Rev.  Luke  Delany,  who 
had  arrived  to  give  her  "  the  consolations,"  as  he 
briefly  phrased  it,  insisted  on  Kearney's  attend- 
ing to  receive  the  old  lady's  forgiveness  before 
she  died. 

"Upon  my  conscience,"  muttered  Kearney, 
"  I  was  always  under  the  belief  it  was  I  was  in- 
jured ;  but,  as  the  priest  says,  'it's  only  on 
one's  death-bed  he  sees  things  clearly.' " 

As  Kearney  groped  his  way  through  the  dark- 
ened room,  shocked  at  his  own  creaking  shoes, 
and  painfully  convinced  that  he  was  somehow  de- 
ficient in  delicacy,  a  low,  faint  cough  guided  him 


to  the  sofa  where  Miss  O'.^hea  lay.  "Is  that 
Maurice  Kearney?"  said  she,  feebly.  "I  think 
I  know  his  foot." 

"  Yes  indeed,  bad  luck  to  them  for  shoes. 
Wherever  Davy  Morris  gets  the  leather  I  don't 
know,  but  it's  as  loud  as  a  barrel-organ." 

"Maybe  they're  cheap,  Maurice.  One  puts 
up  with  many  a  thing  for  a  little  cheapness." 

"That's  the  first  shot!"  muttered  Kearney  to 
himself,  while  he  gave  a  little  cough  to  avoid"  re- 
ply. 

"Father  Luke  has  been  telling  me,  Maurice, 
that  before  I  go  this  long  journey  I  ought  to 
take  care  to  settle  any  little  matter  here  that's  on 
my  mind.  '  If  there's  any  body  you  bear  an  ill 
will  to,'  says  he  ;  '  if  there's  any  one  has  wronged 
you,'  says  he,  'told  lies  of  you,  or  done  you  any 
bodily  harm,  send  for  him,'  says  he,  'and  let 
him  hear  your  forgiveness  out  of  your  own 
mouth.  I'll  take  care  afterward,'  says  Father 
Luke,  '  that  he'll  have  to  settle  the  account  with 
me;  but  you  mustn't  mind  that.  You  must  be 
able  to  tell  St.  Joseph  that  you  come  with  a 
clean  breast  and  a  good  conscience ;'  andfchat's" 
— here  she  sighed  heavily  several  times — "and 
that's  the  reason  I  sent  for  you,  Maurice  Kear- 
ney!"  - 

Poor  Kearney  sighed  heavily  over  that  cate- 
gory of  misdoers  with  whom  he  found  himself 
classed,  but  he  said  nothing. 

"  I  don't  want  to  say  any  thing  harsh  to  you, 
Maurice,  nor  have  I  strength  to  listen,  if  you'd 
try  to  defend  yourself;  time  is  short  with  me 
now  ;  but  this  I  must  say,  if  I'm  here  now  sick 
and  sore,  and  if  the  poor  boy  in  the  other  room 
is  lying  down  with  his  fractured  head,  it  is  you, 
and  you  alone  have  the  blame." 

"  May  the  blessed  Virgin  give  me  patience!" 
muttered  he,  as  he  wrung  his  hands  despairingly. 

"  I  hope  she  will ;  and  give  you  more,  Mau- 
rice Kearney.  I  hope  she'll  give  you  a  hearty  re- 
pentance. I  hope  she'll  teach  you  that  the  few- 
days  that  remain  to  you  in  this  life  are  short 
enough  for  contrition — ay — contrition  and  cas- 
tigation." 

"  Ain't  I  getting  it  now?"  muttered  he  ;  but 
low  as  he  spoke  the  words  her  quick  hearing 
had  caught  them. 

"  I  hope  you  are;  it  is  the  last  bit  of  friend- 
ship I  can  do  you.  You  have  a  hard,  worldly, 
selfish  nature,  Maurice;  you  had  it  as  ahoy,  and 
it  grew  worse  as  you  grew  older.  What  many- 
believed  high  spirits  in  you  was  nothing  else 
than  the  reckless  devilment  of  a  man  that  only- 
thought  of  himself.  You  could  afford  to  be — at 
least,  to  look — light-hearted,  for  you  cared  for 
nobody.  You  squandered  your  little  property, 
and  you'd  have  made  away  with  the  few  acres 
that  belonged  to  your  ancestors  if  the  law  would 
have  let  you.  As  for  the  way  you  brought  up 
your  children,  that  lazy  boy  below  stairs  that 
"never  did  a  hand's  turn  is  proof  enough,  and 
poor  Kitty,  just  because  she  wasn't  like  the  rest 
of  you,  how  she's  treated!" 

"How  is  that;  what  is  my  cruelty  there?" 
cried  he. 

"Don't  try  to  make  yourself  out  worse  than 
you  are, ' '  said  she,  sternly, ' '  and  pretend  that  you 
don't  know  the  wrong  you  done  her." 

"  May  I  never — if  I  understand  what  you 
mean." 

"Maybe  you  thought  it  was  no  business  of 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


L8'J 


yours  to  provide  for  your  own  child.  Maybe 
you  bad  a  aotion  thai  it  was  enough  thai  she 
had  her  food  and  a  roof  over  her  while  you  were 
here,  and  that  somehow — anyhow — she'd  get  on, 
as  they  call  it,  when  you  were  in  the  other  place. 
Maurice  Kearney,  1*11  Bay  nothing  bo  cruel  to  you 
as  your  own  conscience  is  Baying  this  minute,  or 
maybe,  with  that  1  i ^r  1 » t  heart  that  makes  your 
friends  so  fond  of  you,  you  never  bothered  your- 
self about  her  at  all,  and  that's  the  way  it  come 
about." 

"What  came  about  it?  I  want  to  know 
that." 

••  First  and  foremost,  I  don't  think  the  law  will 
let  you.  I  don't  believe  you  can  charge  youres- 
tate  against  the  entail.  1  have  a  note  there  to 
ask  M'Keown's  opinion,  ami  if  I'm  light  I'll  set 
apart  a  sum  in  my  will  to  contest  it  in  the 
Queen's  Bench.  I  tell  you  this  to  your  face. 
.Maurice  Kearney,  and  I'm  going  where  I  can 
tell  it  to  somebody  better  than  a  hard-hearted, 
cruel  old  man." 

'•  What  is  that  I  want  to  do.  and  that  the  law 
won't  let  me?"  asked  lie,  in  the  most  imploring 
accents. 

'"At  least  twelve  honest  men  will  decide  it." 

"Decide  what,  in  the  name  of  the  saints?"! 
cried  he. 

"Don't  he  profane;  don't  parade  your  unhe-  -■ 
lieving  notions  to  a  poor  old  woman  on  her  < 
death-bed.  You  may  want  to  leave  your  daugh-  ! 
ter  a  beggar,  and  your  sou  little  better,  but  you 
have  no  right  to  disturb  my  last  moments  with 
your  terrible  blasphemies." 

"I'm  fairly  bothered  now,"  cried  he,  as  his 
two  arms  dropped  powerlessly  to  his  sides.  "So 
help  me.  if  1  know  whether  I'm  awake  or  in  a 
dream." 

"It's  an  excuse  won't  serve  you  where  you'll 
be  soon  going,  and  I  warn  you,  don't  trust  it." 

"Have  a  little  pity  on  me.  .Miss  Betty  dar- 
ling." said  he.  in  his  most  coaxing  tone  ;  "and 
tell  me  what  it  is  I've  doner" 

"  You  mean  what  you  are  trying  to  do  ;  but 
what,  please  the  Virgin,  we'll  not  let  you!" 

"What  is  thatf" 

"  And  what,  weak  and  ill  and  dying  as  I  am,  I 
I've  strength  enough  left  in  me  to  prevent,  Mau- 
rice Kearney,  ami  if  you'll  give  me  that  Bible 
there.  I'll  kiss  it,  and  take  my  oath  that  if  he 
marries  her  he'll  never  put  foot  in  a  house  of 
mine,  nor  inherit  an  acre  that  belongs  to  me  ; 
and  all  that  I'll  leave  him  in  my  will  shall  be 
my —  Well,  I  won't  say  what,  only  it's  some- 
thing he'll  not  have  to  pay  a  legacy  duty  on. 
Do  you  understand  me  now,  or  ain't  1  plain 
enough  yet  ?" 

"  No,  not  yet.  You'll  have  to  make  it  clearer 
still." 

"  Faith,  I  must  say  you  did  not  pick  up  much 
'cuteness  from  your  adopted  daughter." 

"  Who  is  Bhe?" 

"The  Greek  hussy  that  you  want  to  many 
my  nephew,  anil  give  a  dowry  to  out  of  the  estate 
that  belongs  to  your  son.  I  know  it  all,  Mau- 
rice. I  wasn't  two  hours  in  the  house  before  my 
old  woman  brought  me  the  story  from  Mai  v. 
Ay,  Mare  if  you  like,  but  they  all  know  it  below 
stairs,  and  a  nice  way  you  are  discussed  in  your 
own  house!  (letting  a  promise  out  of  a  poor 
boy  in  a  brain  fever— making  him  give  a  pledge 
iu  his  ravings:      Won't  it  tell  well  in  a  court  of 


justice,  of  a  magistrate,  a  county  gentleman,  a 

Kearney  of  Kilgohbin?  (lb!  Maurice,  Mau- 
rice.   I  in  ashamed  of  J'OU  !" 

"  I'pon  my  oath,  you're   making  me  ashamed 

of  myself  thai  1  sit  here  and  listen  to  you, "cried 
he,  carried  beyond  all  endurance.     "  Abusing, 

ay,  blackguarding  me  this  last  hour  about  a  ly 
ing  story  that  came  from  the  kitchen.  It's  you 
that  ought  to  be  ashamed,  old  lady.  Not, "in- 
deed, for  believing  ill  of  an  old  friend,  fir  that's 
nature  in  you,  but  for  not  Inning  common  Beqse 
— just  common-sense  to  guide  you,  and  a  little 
common  decency  to  warn  you.  Look  now,  there 
is  not  a  word,  there  is  not  a  syllable,  of  truth  in 
the  whole  story.  Nobody  ever  thought  of  your 
nephew  asking  my  niece  to  marry  him  ;  and  if  hi 
did,  she  wouldn't  have  him.  She  looks  higher, 
and  she  lias  a  right  to  look  higher,  than  to  be 
the  wife  of  an  Irish  squireen." 

"  Goon,  Maurice,  go  on.  You  waited  for  mo 
to  be  as  I  am  now  before  you  had  courage  for 
words  like  these." 

"Well,  I  ask  your  pardon,  and  ask  it  in  all 
humiliation  and  sorrow.  My  temper — bad  luck 
to  it! — gets  the  better,  or,  maybe,  it's  the  worse 
of  me,  at  times,  and  I  say  fifty  things  that  I  know 
I  don't  feel — just  the  way  sailors  load  a  gun 
with  any  thing  in  the  heat  of  an  action." 

"  I'm  not  in  a  condition  to  talk  of  sea-fights, 
Mr.  Kearney,  though  I'm  obliged  to  you  all  the 
same  for  trying  to  amuse  me.  You'll  not  think 
me  rude  if  I  ask  you  to  send  Kate  to  me?  .And 
please  to  tell  Father  Luke  that  I'll  not  see  him 
this  morning.  My  nerves  have  been  sorely  trie. I. 
One  word  before  you  go,  Maurice  Kearney  ;  and 
have  compassion  enough  not  to  answer  me. 
You  may  be  a  just  man  and  an  honest  man: 
you  may  be  fair  in  your  dealings,  and  all  that 
your  tenants  say  of  you  may  be  lies  and  calum- 
nies; but  to  insult  a  poor  old  woman  on  her  death- 
bed is  cruel  and  unfeeling  :  and  I'll  tell  you  more, 
Maurice,  it's  cowardly  and  it's — " 

Kearney  did  not  wait  to  hear  what  more  it 
might  be,  for  be  was  already  at  the  door,  and 
rushed  out  as  if  he  was  escaping  from  a  lire. 

"I'm  glad  he's  better  than  they  made  him  out." 
said  Miss  Betty  to  herself,  in  a  tone  of  calm  so- 
liloquy ;  "and  he'll  not  be  worse  for  some  of 
the  home  truths  I've  told  him."  And  with  this 
she  drew  on  her  silk  mittens  and  arranged  her 
cap  composedly,  while  she  waited  for  Kate's  ar- 
rival. 

As  for  poor  Kearney,  other  troubles  were 
awaiting  him  in  his  study,  where  he  found  bi- 
son and  Mr.  Holmes,  the  lawyer,  sitting  before 
a  table  covered  with  papers.  "  I  have  no  hem! 
for  business  now, '*  cried  Kearney.  "I  don't  fori 
overwell  to-day,  and  if  yon  want  to  talk  to  me. 
you'll  have  to  put  it  off  till  to-morrow." 

"Mr.   Holmes  must  leave  for  town,  my  lord," 

interposed  Dick,  in  his  mosl  insinuating  tone, 

"  and  he  only  wants  a  few  minutes  with  you  be- 
fore be  goes 

"  And  it's  just  what  he  won't  get.      I  would  not 

Bee  the  Lord-Lieutenant  if  he  was  here  now." 
"The  trial  is  fixed  for  Tuesday,  the  19th,  my 

lord."  cried  Holmes;  "and  the  National  press 
ha-   taken  it   up  in  such  a  way  that   we  have  no 

chance  whatever.     The  verdict  will  be  'Guilty,1 

without   leaving   the   box;    and  the   whole   voire 

of  public  opinion  will  demand  the  very  heaviest 

Bentence  the  law  can  pi'oi qi 


100 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"Think  of  that  poor  fellow,  O'Shea,  just  ris- 
ing from  a  sick-bed,"  said  Dick,  as  his  voice 
shook  with  agitation. 

"  They  can't  hang  him." 

"  No,  for  the  scoundrel  Gill  is  alive,  and  will 
be  the  chief  witness  on  the  trial ;  but  they  may 
give  him  two  years  with  prison  labor,  and  if  they 
do,  it  will  kill  him." 

"I  don't  know  that.  I've  seen  more  than  one 
fellow  come  out  fresh  and  hearty  after  a  spell.  In 
fact,  the  plain  diet,  and  the  regular  work,  and 
the  steady  habits  are  wonderful  things  for  a  young 
man  that  has  been  knocking  about  in  a  town  life. " 

"  Oh,  father,  don't  speak  that  way.  I  know 
Gorman  well,  and  I  can  swear  he'd  not  survive 
it." 

Kearney  shook  his  head  doubtingly,  and  mut- 
tered, "There's  a  great  deal  said  about  wound- 
ed pride  and  injured  feelings,  but  the  truth  is, 
these  things  are  like  a  bad  colic,  mighty  hard  to 
bear,  if  you  like,  but  nobody  ever  dies  of  it." 

"  From  all  I  hear  about  young  Mi'.  O'Shea," 
said  Holmes,  "  I  am  led  to  believe  he  will  scarce- 
ly live  through  an  imprisonment." 

"To  be  sure!  Why  not?  At  three  or  four 
and  twenty  we're  all  of  us  high-spirited  and  sen- 
sitive and  noble-hearted,  and  we  die  on  the  spot 
if  there's  a  word  against  our  honor.  It  is  only 
after  we  cross  the  line  in  life,  wherever  that  be, 
that  we  become  thick-skinned  and  hardened,  and 
mind  nothing  that  does  not  touch  our  account  at 
the  bank.  Sure  I  know  the  theory  well!  Ay, 
and  the  only  bit  of  truth  in  it  all  is,  that  we  cry 
out  louder  when  we're  young,  for  we  are  not  so 
well  used  to  bad  treatment." 

"  Right  or  wrong,  no  man  likes  to  have  the 
whole  press  of  a  nation  assailing  him,  and  all  the 
sympathies  of  a  people  against  him,"  said  Holmes. 

"  And  what  canyon  and  your  brothers  in  wigs 
do  against  that?  Will  all  your  little  beguiling 
ways  and  insinuating  tricks  turn  the  Pike  and 
the  Irish  Cry  from  what  sells  their  papers  ?  Here 
it  is  now,  Mr.  Holmes,  and  I  can't  put  it  shorter. 
Every  man  that  lives  in  Ireland  knows  in  his 
heart  he  must  live  in  hot  water ;  but  somehow, 
though  he  may  not  like  it,  he  gets  used  to  it, 
and  he  finds  it  does  him  no  harm  in  the  end. 
There  was  an  uncle  of  my  own  was  in  a  passion 
for  forty  years,  and  he  died  at  eighty-six." 

"I  wish  I  could  only  secure  your  attention, 
my  lord,  for  ten  minutes." 

"  And  what  would  you  do,  counselor,  if  you 
had  it  ?*' 

"  You  see,  my  lord,  there  are  some  very  grave 
questions  here.  First  of  all,  you  and  your  broth- 
er magistrates  had  no  right  to  accept  bail.  The 
injury  was  too  grave  :  Gill's  life,  as  the  doctor's 
certificate  will  prove,  was  in  danger.  It  was 
for  a  judge  in  Chambers  to  decide  whether  bail 
could  be  taken.  They  will  move,  therefore,  in 
the  Queen's  Bench,  for  a  mandamus — " 

"  May  I  never,  if  you  won't  drive  me  mad  !" 
cried  Kearney,  passionately ;  "  and  I'd  rather  be 
picking  oakum  this  minute  than  listening  to  all 
the  possible  misfortunes  briefs  and  lawyers  could 
bring  on  me." 

"Just  listen  to  Holmes,  father,"  whispered 
Dick.  "  He  thinks  that  Gill  might  be  got  over 
— that  if  done  by  you  with  three  or  four  hundred 
pounds,  he'd  either  make  his  evidence  so  light, 
or  he'd  contradict  himself,  or,  better  than  all, 
he'd  not  make  an  appearance  at  the  trial — " 


"  Compounding  a  felony  !  Catch  me  at  it !" 
cried  the  old  man,  with  a  yell. 

"  Well,  Joe  Atlee  will  be  here  to-night,"  con- 
tinued Dick.  "  He's  a  clever  fellow  at  all  rogu- 
eries. Will  you  let  him  see  if  it  can't  be  ar- 
ranged ?" 

"I  don't  care  who  does  it,  so  it  isn't  Maurice 
Kearney,"  said  he,  angrily,  for  his  patience  could 
endure  no  more.  "  If  you  won't  leave  me  alone 
now,  I'll  go  out  and  sit  on  the  bog,  and  upon  my 
conscience  I  won't  say  that  I'll  not  throw  myself 
into  a  bog-hole !"  There  was  a  tone  of  such  per- 
fect sincerity  in  his  speech  that,  without  another 
word,  Dick  took  the  lawyer's  arm  and  led  him 
from  the  room. 

A  third  voice  was  heard  outside  as  they  issued 
forth,  and  Kearney  could  just  make  out  that  it 
was  Major  Lockwood,  who  was  asking  Dick  if 
he  might  have  a  few  minutes'  conversation  with 
his  father.  "I  don't  suspect  you'll  find  my  fa- 
ther much  disposed  for  conversation  just  now. 
I  think,  if  you  would  not  mind  making  your  visit 
to  him  at  another  time — " 

"Just  so!"  broke  in  the  old  man ;  "if  you're 
not  coming  with  a  strait-waistcoat,  or  a  coil  of 
rope  to  hold  me  down,  I'd  say  it's  better  to  leave 
me  to  myself." 

Whether  it  was  that  the  major  was  undeterred 
by  these  forbidding  evidences,  or  that  what  he 
deemed  the  importance  of  his  communication 
warranted  some  risk,  certain  it  is  he  lingered  at 
the  door,  and  stood  there  where  Dick  and  the 
lawyer  had  gone  and  left  him. 

A  faint  tap  at  the  door  at  last  apprised  Kear- 
ney that  sonne  one  was  without,  and  he  hastily, 
half  angrily,  cried,  "Come  in!"  Old  Kearney 
almost  started  with  surprise  as  the  major  walked 
in.  "  I'm  not  going  to  make  any  apology  for  in- 
truding on  you,"  cried  he.  "  What  I  want  to 
say  shall  be  said  in  three  words,  and  I  can  not 
endure  the  suspense  of  not  having  them  said  and 
answered.  I've  had  a  whole  night  of  feverish 
anxiety,  and  a  worse  morning,  thinking  and  turn- 
ing over  the  thing  in  my  mind,  and  settled  it 
must  be  at  once,  one  way  or  other,  for  my  head 
will  not  stand  it." 

"My  own  is  tried  pretty  hard,  and  I  can  feel 
for  you,"  said  Kearney,  with  a  grim  humor. 

"I've  come  to  ask  if  you'll  give  me  your 
daughter?"  and  his  face  became  blood-red  with 
the  effort  the  words  had  cost  him. 

"Give  you  my  daughter?"  cried  Kearney. 

"  I  want  to  make  her  my  wife,  and  as  I  know 
little  about  courtship,  and  have  nobody  here  that 
could  settle  this  affair  for  me — for  Walpole  is 
thinking  of  his  own  concerns — I've  thought  the 
best  way,  as  it  was  the  shortest,  was  to  come  at 
once  to  yourself:  I  have  got  a  few  documents 
here  that  will  show  you  I  have  enough  to  live  on, 
and  to  make  a  tidy  settlement,  and  do  all  that 
ought  to  be  done." 

"I'm  sure  you  are  an  excellent  fellow,  and  I 
like  you  myself;  but  you  see,  major,  a  man 
doesn't  dispose  of  his  daughter  like  his  horse,  and 
I'd  like  to  hear  what  she  would  say  to  the  bargain. ' 

"I  suppose  you  could  ask  her?" 

"Well,  indeed,  that's  true,  I  could  ask  her; 
but  on  the  whole,  major,  don't  you  think  the 
question  would  come  better  from  yourself?" 

"That  means  courtship." 

"  Yes,  I  admit  it  is  liable  to  that  objection,  but 
somehow  it's  the  usual  course." 


LORD  KDLGOBBIN. 


191 


••  No,  no,"  said   tlic  other,  slowly,   "  I   COOld 

not  manage  that.     I'm  nek  of. bachelor  life,  and 

I'm  ready  to  send  in  my  papers  ami  have  done 
with  it,  hut  I  don't  know  how  to  go  about  the 
other.  Not  to  Bay,  Kearney,''  added  he,  more 
boldly,  "that  I  think  there  is  something  con- 
foundedly mean  in  that  daily  pprsuit  ot'a  woman, 
till  by  dint  of  importunity,  and  one  thing  or  an- 
other, you  get  her  to  like  you!  What  can  she 
know  of  her  own  mind  after  three  or  four  months 
of  what  these  snobs  call  attentions  ?  I  low  is  she 
to  say  how  much  is  mere  habit,  how  much  is 
gratified  vanity  of  having  a  fellow  dangling  after 
her,  how  much  the  necessity  of  showing  the  world 
she  is  not  compromised  by  the  cad's  solicitations  ? 
Take  my  word  for  it,  Kearney,  my  way  is  the 
1  ist  lie  able  to  go  up  like  a  man  and  tell  the 
girl,  '  It's  all  arranged.  I've  shown  the  old  cove 
that  I  can  take  care  of  you  ;  he  has  seen  that  I've 
no  debts  or  mortgages ;  I'm  ready  to  behave 
handsomely  ;  what  do  you  say  yourself?'" 

"She  might  say,  'I  know  nothing  about  you. 
I  may  possibly  not  see  much  to  dislike,  hut  how 
do  I  know  I  should  like  you?'" 

"And  I'd  say,  'I'm  one  of  those  fellows  that 
are  the  same  all  through,  to-day  as  I  was  yester- 
day, and  to-morrow  the  same.  When  I'm  in  a 
bail  temper  I  go  out  on  the  moors  and  walk  it 
off,  and  I'm  not  hard  to  live  with.'  " 

"  There's  many  a  bad  fellow  a  woman  might 
like  better." 

"  All  the  luckier  for  me,  then,  that  I  don't  get 
her." 

•'I  might  say,  too,"  said  Kearney,  with  a 
smile,  "  how  much  do  you  know  of  my  daughter 
— of  her  temper,  her  tastes,  her  habits,  and  her 
likings?  What  assurance  have  you  that  you 
would  suit  each  other,  and  that  you  are  not  as 
wide  apart  in  character  as  in  country?" 

"  I'll  answer  for  that.  She's  always  good-tem- 
pered, cheerful,  and  light-hearted.  She's  always 
nicely  dressed  and  polite  to  every  one.  She 
manages  this  old  house  and  these  stupid  bog- 
trotters,  till  one  fancies  it  a  fine  establishment 
and  a  first-rate  household.  She  rides  like  a  lion, 
and  I'd  rather  hear  her  laugh  than  I'd  listen  to 
l'atti." 

"  I'll  call  all  that  mighty  like  being  in  love." 

"Do  ifyou  like — but  answer  me  my  question. " 

"  That  is  more  than  I'm  able ;  but  I'll  consult 
my  daughter.  I'll  tell  her  pretty  much  in  your 
own  words  all  you  have  said  to  me,  and  she  shall 
herself  give  the  answer." 

"All  right ;   and  how  soon  ?" 

"Well,  in  the  course  of  the  day.  Should  she 
say  that  she  does  not  understand  being  wooed  in 
this  manner,  that  she  would  like  more  time  to 
learn  something  more  about  yourself,  that,  in  fact, 
there  is  something  too  peremptory  in  this  mode  of 
proceeding,  I  would  not  say  she  was  wrong." 

"  But  if  she  says  yes  frankly,  you'll  let  me 
know  at  once  ?" 

"I  will — on  the  spot." 


CHAPTER  LXXIX. 

PLEASANT    CONGKATCI.AI  toNS. 

The  news  of  Nina's  engagement  to  Walpole 
soon  spread  through  the  castle  at  Kilgobbin,  and 

gave  great  ?atisfaction  ;  even  the  humbler  mem- 


bers of  the  household  wnc  delighted  to  think 
there  would  be  a  wedding  ami  all  its  appropri- 
ate festivity. 

When  the  tidings  at  length  arrived  at  Mi  — 
O'Shea's  room,  so  re\iving  were  the  effects  upon 
her  Bpiritfl  that  the  old  lady  insisted  she  should 
be  dressed  and  carried  down  to  the  drawing- 
room,  that  the  bridegroom  might  be  presented 
to  her  in  all  form. 

Though  Nina  herself  chafed  at  such  a  pro- 
ceeding, and  called  it  a  most  "  insufferable  pre- 
tension," she  was  perhaps  not  sorry  secretly  at 
the  opportunity  afforded  herself  to  let  the  tirc- 
;  some  old  woman  gue>s  how  she  regarded  her, 
\  and  what  might  be  their  future  relation-  toward 
j  each  other.      "Not,  indeed,"  added  she,  "that 
we  are  likely  ever  to  meet  again,  or  that  I  should 
|  recognize  her  beyond  a  bow  if  we  should." 
I      As  for  Kearney,  the  announcement  that  Miss 
Betty  was  about  to  appear  in  pnblic  filled  him 
with  unmixed  terror,  and  he  muttered  drearily 
as  he  went,  "There'll  be  wigs  on  the  green  for 
this."     Nor  was  Walpole  himself  pleased  at  the 
arrangement.     Like  most  men  in  his  position, 
he  could  not  be  brought  to  see  the  delicacy  or 
the  propriety  of  being  paraded  as  an  object  of 
public  inspection,  nor  did  he  perceive  the  fitness 
of  that  display  of  trinkets,  which  he  had  brought 
with  him  as  presents,  and  the  sight  of  which  had 
become  a  sort  of  public  necessity. 

Not  the  least  strange  part  of  the  whole  pro- 
cedure was  that  no  one  could  tell  where  or  how 
or  with  whom  it  originated.  It  was  like  one  of 
those  movements  which  are  occasionally  seen  in 
political  life,  where  without  the  direct  interven- 
tion of  any  precise  agent  a  sort  of  diffused  atmos- 
phere of  public  opinion  suffices  to  produce  re- 
sults and  effect  changes  that  all  are  ready  to  dis- 
avow but  accept  of. 

The  mere  fact  of  the  pleasure  the  prospect  af- 
forded to  Miss  Betty  prevented  Kate  from  offer- 
ing opposition  to  what  she  felt  to  be  both  bad  in 
taste  and  ridiculous. 

"That  old  lady  imagines,  I  believe,  that  I  am 
!  to  come  down  like  a  priti  win  in  a  French  vau- 
deville— dressed  in  a  tail-coat,  with  a  white  tie 
I  and  white  gloves,  and  perhaps  receive  her  bene- 
diction. She  mistakes  herself,  she  mistakes  us. 
,  If  there  was  a  casket  of  uncouth  old  diamonds 
'  or  some  marvelous  old  point  lace  to  grace  the  oc- 
casion, we  might  play  our  parts  with  a  certain 
decorous  hypocrisy;  but  to  be  stared  at  through 
I  a  double  eyeglass  by  a  snuffy  old  woman  in 
black  mittens  is  more  than  one  is  called  on  to 
endure — eh,  Lockwood  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  think  I'd  go  through  it  all 
gladly  to  have  the  occasion." 

"Have  a  little  patience,  old  fellow  ;  it  will  all 
come  right.  My  worthy  relatives — for  I  Bup- 
po>e  I  can  call  them  so  now — are  too  shrewd 
people  to  refuse  the  offer  of  such  a  fellow  as  yon. 
They  have  that  native  pride  that  demands  a  eer- 
tain  amount  of  etiquette  and  deference.  They 
must  not  seem  to  rise  too  eagerly  to  the  fly 
but  only  give  them  time,  give  them  time,  Lock- 
wood." 

"Ay,  but  the  waiting  in  this  uncertainty  is 
terrible  to  me." 

"Let  it  be  certainty,  then,  and  for  very  little 
I'll  insure   you  |      Hear   this    in   mind,  my  dear 

fellow,  and  you'll  see  how  little  i d  there  is  for 

apprehension,      You  and  the  men  like  you — snug 


192 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


fellows  with  comfortable  estates  and  no  mort-  | 
gages,  unhampered  by  ties  and  uninfluenced  by 
connections — are  a  species  of  plant  that  is  rare 
every  where,  but  actually  never  grew  at  all  in 
Ireland,  where  every  one  spent  double  his  in- 
come, and  seldom  dared  to  move  a  step  without 
a  committee  of  relations.  Old  Kearney  has 
gone  through  that  fat  volume  of  the  gentry  and 
squirearchy  of  England  last  night,  and  from  Sir 
Simon  de  Lokewood,  who  was  killed  at  Crecy, 
down  to  a  certain  major  in  the  Carbineers,  he 
knows  you  all." 

"  I'll  bet  you  a  thousand  they  say  No." 

"I've  not  got  a  thousand  to  pay  if  I  should 
lose ;  but  I'll  lay  a  pony — two  if  you  like — that  ! 
you  are  an  accepted  man  this  day — ay,  before 
dinner." 

"  If  I  only  thought  so !" 

"  Confound  it — you  don't  pretend  you  are  in 
love!'' 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  or  not,  but  I  do 
know  how  I  should  like  to  bring  that  nice  girl 
back  to  Hampshire,  and  install  her  at  the  Din- 
gle. I've  a  tidy  stable,  some  nice  shooting,  a 
good  trout  stream,  and  then  I  should  have  the 
prettiest  wife  in  the  county." 

"  Happy  dog!  Yours  is  the  real  philosophy 
of  life.  The  fellows  who  are  realistic  enough  to 
reckon  up  the  material  elements  of  their  happi- 
ness— who  have  little  to  speculate  on  and  less  to 
unbelieve — they  are  right." 

"If  you  mean  that  I'll  never  break  my  heart 
because  I  don't  get  in  for  the  county,  that's  true 
— I  don't  deny  it.  But  come,  tell  me  is  it  all 
settled  about  your  business  ?  Has  the  uncle 
been  asked  ? — has  he  spoken  ?" 

"  He  has  been  asked  and  given  his  consent. 
My  distinguished  father-in-law,  the  Prince,  has 
been  telegraphed  to  this  morning,  and  his  reply 
may  be  here  to-night  or  to-morrow.  At  all 
events,  we  are  determined  that  even  should  he 
prove  adverse,  we  shall  not  be  deterred  from  our 
wishes  by  the  caprice  of  a  parent  who  has  aban- 
doned US."  k 

"  It's  what  people  would  call  a  love-matcn?" 

"I  sincerely  trust  it  is.  If  her  affections  were 
not  inextricably  engaged,  it  is  not  possible  that 
such  a  girl  could  pledge  her  future  to  a  man  as 
humble  as  myself." 

"That  is,  she  is  very  much  in  love  with  you?" 

"I  hope  the  astonishment  of  your  question 
does  not  arise  from  its  seeming  difficulty  of  be- 
lief?" 

"No,  not  so  much  that;  but  I  thought  there 
might  have  been  a  little  heroics,  or  whatever  it  is, 
on  your  side." 

"  Most  dull  dragoon,  do  you  not  know  that  so 
long  as  a  man  spoons  he  can  talk  of  his  affec- 
tion for  a  woman  ;  but  that  once  she  is  about  to 
be  his  wife,  or  is  actually  his  wife,  he  limits  his 
avowals  to  her  love  for  him  ?" 

"I  never  heard  that  before.  I  say,  what  a 
swell  you  are  this  morning !  The  cock-pheasants 
will  mistake  you  for  one  of  them." 

"  Nothing  can  be  simpler,  nothing  quieter,  I 
trust,  than  a  suit  of  dark  purple  knickerbockers  ; 
and  you  may  see  that  my  thread  stockings  and 
my  coarse  shoes  presuppose  a  stroll  in  the  plan- 
tations, where,  indeed,  I  mean  to  smoke  my 
morning  cigar." 

"  She'll  make  you  give  up  tobacco,  I  suppose?" 

"Nothing  of  the  kind ;  a  thorough  woman  of 


the  world  enforces  no  such  penalties  as  these. 
True  free  trade  is  the  great  matrimonial  maxim, 
and  for  people  of  small  means  it  is  inestimable. 
Tlwj  formula  may  be  stated  thus,  '  Dine  at  the 
best  houses,  and  give  tea  at  your  own.'  " 

What  other  precepts  of  equal  wisdom  Walpole 
was  prepared  to  enunciate  were  lost  to  the  world 
by  a  message  informing  him  that  Miss  Betty  was 
in  the  drawing-room,  and  the  family  assembled 
to  see  him. 

Cecil  Walpole  possessed  a  very  fair  stock  of 
that  useful  quality  called  assurance :  but  he  had 
no  more  than  he  needed  to  enter  that  large  room, 
where  the  assembled  family  sat  in  a  half  circle, 
and  stand  to  be  surveyed  by  Miss  O'Shea's  eye- 
glass, unabashed.  Nor  was  the  ordeal  the  less 
trying  as  he  overheard  the  old  lady  ask  her 
neighbor  "if  he  wasn't  the  image  of  the  Knave 
of  Diamonds!" 

"I  thought  you  were  the  other  man!"  said 
she.  curtly,  as  he  made  his  bow. 

"  I  deplore  the  disappointment,  madam — even 
though  I  do  not  comprehend  it." 

"It  was  the  picture,  the  photograph,  of  the 
other  man  I  saw — a  fine,  tall,  dark  man,  with 
long  mustaches." 

"The  fine,  tall,  dark  man,  with  the  long  mus- 
taches, is  in  the  house,  and  will  be  charmed  to  be 
presented  to  you." 

"Ay,  ay!  presented  is  all  very  fine;  but  that 
won't  make  him  the  bridegroom,"  said  she,  with 
a  laugh. 

"I  sincerely  trust  it  will  not.  madam." 

"And  it  is  you,  then,  are  Major  Walpole?" 

"Mr.  Walpole,  madam — my  friend  Lockwood 
is  the  major." 

"To  be  sure.  I  have  it  right  now.  Yon  are 
the  young  man  that  got  into  that  unhappy  scrape, 
and  got  the  Lord-Lieutenant  turned  away — " 

"I  wonder  howr  you  endure  this."  hurst  out 
Nina,  as  she  arose  and  walked  angrily  toward  a 
window. 

"I  don't  think  I  caught  what  the  young  lady 
said ;  but  if  it  was,  that  what  can  not  be  cured 
must  be  endured,  it  is  true  enough  ;  and  I  sup- 
pose that  they'll  get  over  your  blunder  as  they 
have  done  many  another." 

"I  live  in  that  hope,  madam." 

"Not  but  it's  a  bad  beginning  in  public  life  : 
and  a  stupid  mistake  hangs  long  on  a  man's  mem- 
ory. You're  young,  however,  and  people  are  gen- 
erous enough  to  believe  it  might  be  a  youthful  in- 
discretion." 

"You  give  me  great  comfort,  madam." 

"And  now  you  are  going  to  risk  another  ven- 
ture ?" 

"I  sincerely  trust  on  safer  grounds." 

"That's  what  they  all  think.  I  never  knew  a 
man  that  didn't  believe  he  drew  the  prize  in  mat- 
rimony. Ask  him,  however,  six  months  after  he's 
tied.  Say,  '  What  do  you  think  of  your  ticket 
now  ?'  Eh,  Maurice  Kearney  ?  It  doesn't  take 
twenty  or  thirty  years,  quarreling  and  disputing, 
to  show  one  that  a  lottery  with  so  many  blanks 
is  just  a  swindle." 

A  loud  bang  of  the  door,  as  Nina  flounced  out 
in  indignation,  almost  shook  the  room. 

"There's  a  temper  you'll  know  more  of  yet. 
young  gentleman  ;  and,  take  my  word  for  it,  it's 
only  in  stage-plays  that  a  shrew  is  ever  tamed." 

"I  declare,"  "cried  Dick,  losing  all  patience, 
"  I  think  Miss  O'Shea  is  too  unsparing  of  us  all. 


LOUD  KILGOBBIN. 


Loa 


Wo  have  our  faults,  I'm  sure;  lmt  public  correc- 
tion will  nut  make  us  more  comfortable." 

"It  wasn't  i/our  comfort  I  was  thinking  of, 
young   man  :   and  if  I  thought  of  your  poor  fa-  ! 
titer's,  Id  have  advised  him  to  put  you  out  an  [ 
apprentice.     There's  many  a  light  business — like 
stationery,  or  tigs,  or  children's  toys  —  and  they 
want  just  as  little  capital  as  capacity." 

".Mi>s  Betty,"  said  Kearney,  stiffly,  "  this  is 
not  the  time  nor  the  place  for  these  discussions. 
Mr.  Walpole  was  polite  enough  to  present  him- 
self here  to-day  to  have  the  honor  of  making 
your  acquaintance,  and  to  announce  his  future 

marriage." 

"A  great  event  for  us  all — and  we're  proud 
of  it!  It's  what  the  newspapers  will  call  a  great 
day  for  the  Bog  of  Allen.  Eh,  Mauriee?  The 
Princess — God  forgive  me,  hut  I'm  always  calling 
her  Kostigan — hut  the  Princess  will  he  set  down 
niece  to  Lord  Kilgobbin;  and  if  you" — and  she 
addressed  Walpole — "  haven't  a  mock  title  and  a 
mock  estate,  you'll  be  the  only  one  without  them  !" 

"I  don't  think  any  one  will  deny  us  our  tem- 
pers," cried  Kearney. 

"Here's  Lockwood,"  cried  Walpole,  delighted 
to  see  his  friend  enter,  though  he  as  quickly  en- 
deavored to  retreat. 

"Come  in,  major,"  said  Kearney.  '"We're 
all  friends  here.  Miss  O'Shea,  this  is  Major 
Lockwood,  of  the  Carbineers — Miss  O'Shea." 

Lockwood  bowed  stiffly,  but  did  not  speak. 

'"Be  attentive  to  the  old  woman,"  whispered 
Walpole.  "A  word  from  her  will  make  your 
affair  all  right." 

"  I  have  been  very  desirous  to  have  had  the 
honor  of  this  introduction,  madam,"  said  Lock- 
wood,  as  he  seated  himself  at  her  side. 

"  Was  not  that  a  clever  diversion  I  accomplish- 
ed with  'the  Heavy?'  "  said  Walpole,  as  he  drew 
away  Kearney  and  his  son  into  a  window, 

"I  never  heard  her  much  worse  than  to-day," 
-aid  Dick. 

"I  don't  know,"  hesitated  Kilgobbin.  "I 
snspect  she  is  breaking.  There  is  none  of  the 
sustained  virulence  I  used  to  remember  of  old. 
She  lapses  into  half  mildness  at  moments." 

"I  own  I  did  not  catch  them,  nor,  I'm  afraid, 
did  Nina,"  said  Dick.  "Look  there!  I'll  be 
shot,  if  she's  not  giving  your  friend  the  major  a 
lesson!  When  she  performs  in  that  way  with 
li. a-  hands,  you  may  swear  she  is  didactic." 

"I  think  I'll  go  to  his  relief,"  said  Walpole; 
"  but  I  own  it's  a  case  for  the  V.  C." 

As  Walpole  drew  nigh,  he  heard  her  saying: 
"  Marry  one  of  your  own  race,  and  you  will  jog 
on  well  enough.  Many  a  Frenchwoman  or  a 
Spaniard,  and  she'll  lead  her  own  life,  and  be  very 
well  satisfied;  but  a  poor  Irish  girl,  with  a  fresh 
heart  and  a  joyous  temper — what  is  to  become 
of  her,  with  your  dull  habits  and  your  dreary  in- 
tercourse, your  county  society  and  your  Chinese 
manners  !" 

"Mix  O'Shea  is  telling  me  that  I  must  not 
look  for  a  wife  among  her  countrywomen,"  said 

Lockwood,  with  a  touching  attempt  to  -mile. 

"What  I  overheard  was  not  encouraging," 
said  Walpole;  "but  I  think  Mi<s  O'Shea  takes 
a  low  estimate  of  our  social  temperament." 

"Nothing  of  the  kind  !  All  I  say  is.  you'll  do 
mighty  well  for  each  other,  or.  for  aught  I  know, 
you  might  intermarry  with  the  Dutch  or  tic  Ger- 
mans ;    but  it's  a  downright  shame  to  unite  your 

N 


slow  sluggish  spirits  with  the  sparkling  brilliancy 

and  impetuous  joy  of  an  Irish  girl.    That's  a  anion 

I'd  never  consent  to." 

"  I  hope  this  is  no  settled  resolution, "said  Wal- 
pole, speaking  in  a  low  whisper;    "for  I  want  to 

bespeak  your  especial  influence  in   my  friend's 

behalf.  Major  Lockwood  is  a  most  impassioned 
admirer  of  Miss  Kearney,  and  has  already  de- 
clared as  much  to  her  father." 

"Come  over  here,  Maurice  Kearney!  come 
over  here  this  moment !"  cried  she.  half  H  ild  with 
excitement.  "  What  new  piece  of  roguery,  what 
fresh  intrigue  is  this?  Will  you  dare  to  tell  me 
you  had  a  proposal  for  Kate,  for  my  own  god- 
daughter, without  even  so  much  as  telling  tne?" 

"My  dear  Miss  Hetty,  be  calm,  he  cool  for  one 
minute,  and  I'll  tell  you  every  thing." 

"  Ay,  when  I've  found  it  out,  Maurice!" 

"I  profess  I  don't  think  my  friend's  preten- 
sions are  discussed  with  much  delicacy,  time  and 
place  considered,"  said  Walpole. 

"We  have  something  to  think  of  as  well  as 
delicacy,  young  man;  there's  a  woman's  happi- 
ness to  be  remembered." 

"  Here  it  is,  now,  the  whole  business,"  said 
Kearney.  "  The  major  there  asked  me  yester- 
day to  get  my  daughter's  consent  to  his  address- 
es." 

"  And  you  never  told  me,"  cried  Miss  Betty. 

"No,  indeed,  nor  herself  neither;  for  after  I 
turned  it  over  in  my  mind  I  began  to  see  it  would 
not  do — " 

' '  How  do  you  mean  not  do  ?"  asked  Lock- 
wood. 

"Just  let  me  finish.  What  I  mean  is  this — 
if  a  man  wants  to  marry  an  Irish  girl,  he  mustn't 
begin  by  asking  leave  to  make  love  to  her — " 

"  Maurice  is  right!  "cried  the  old  lady,  stoutly. 

"And  above  all,  he  oughtn't  to  think  that  the 
short  cut  to  her  heart  is  through  his  broad  acres." 

"  Maurice  is  right — quite  right!" 

"  And  besides  this,  that  the  more  a  man  dwells 
on  his  belongings,  and  the  settlements,  and  such 
like,  the  more  he  seems  to  say,  'I  may  not  catch 
your  fancy  in  every  thing,  I  may  not  ride  as  bold- 
ly or  dance  as  well  as  somebody  else,  but  never 
mind — you're  making  a  very  prudent  match,  and 
there  is  a  deal  of  pure  affection  in  the  Three  pet- 
Cents.  ' " 

"And  I'll  give  you  another  reason,"  said  Miss 
Betty,  resolutely:  "Kate  Kearney  can  not  have 
two  husbands,  and  I've  made  her  promise  to  mar- 
ry my  nephew,  this  morning." 

"  What!  withoutany  leaveofmine?"  exclaim- 
ed Kearney. 

"Just  so,  Maurice.  She'll  marry  him  if  you 
give  your  consent;  but  whether  you  will  or  not, 
she'll  never  marry  another." 

"  Is  there,  then,  a  real  engagement?"  whisper- 
ed Walpole  to  Kearney.  "Has  my  friend  here 
got  his  answer?" 

"He'll  not  wait  for  another,"  said  Lockwood. 
haughtily,  as  he-arose.  "I'm  for  town,  Cecil," 
whispered  he. 

"So  shall  I  be  this  evening,"  replied  Walpole. 
in  the  same  tone.  "  I  must  hurry  over  to  Lon- 
don and  see  I^ord  Daneshury.  I've  my  troubles 
too."  And  so  saying,  he  drew  his  arm  within 
the  major's  and  led  him  away;  while  BdlSS  Bet- 
ty, with  Kearney  on  one  side  of  her  and  Dick  on 
the  other,  proceeded  to  recount  the  arrangement 
she  had  made  to  make  over  the  Barn  and  the  es- 


194 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


tate  to  Gorman,  it  being  her  own  intention  to  re- 
tire altogether  from  the  world  and  finish  her  days 
in  the  "Retreat." 

"And  a  very  good  thing  to  do  too,"  said  Kear- 
ney, who  was  too  much  impressed  with  the  ad- 
vantages of  the  project  to  remember  his  polite- 
ness. 

"I  have  had  enough  of  it,  Maurice,"  added 
she,  in  a  lugubrious  tone;  "and  it's  all  backbit- 
ing, and  lying,  and  mischief-making,  and,  what's 
worse,  by  the  people  who  might  live  quietly  and 
let  others  do  the  same. " 

"What  you  say  is  true  as  the  Bible." 

"It  may  be  hard  to  do  it,  Maurice  Kearney ; 
but  I'll  pray  for  them  in  my  hours  of  solitude, 
and  in  that  blessed  Retreat  I'll  ask  for  a  blessing 
on  yourself,  and  that  your  heart,  hard  and  cruel 
and  worldly  as  it  is  now,  may  be  changed ;  and 
that  in  your  last  days — maybe  on  the  bed  of  sick- 
ness— when  you  are  writhing  and  twisting  with 
pain,  with  a  bad  heart  and  a  worse  conscience — 
when  you'll  have  nobody  but  hirelings  near  you — 
hirelings  that  will  be  robbing  you  before  your 
eyes,  and  not  waiting  till  the  breath  leaves  you — 
when  even  the  drop  of  drink  to  cool  your  lips — " 

"Don't — don't  go  on  that  way,  Miss  Betty'! 
I've  a  cold  shivering  down  the  spine  of  my  back 
this  minute,  and  a  sickness  creeping  all  over  me." 

"  I'm  glad  of  it.  I'm  glad  that  my  words  have 
power  over  your  wicked  old  nature — if  it's  not 
too  late." 

"If  it's  miserable  and  wretched  you  wanted  to 
make  me,  don't  fret  about  your  want  of  success ; 
though  whether  it  all  comes  too  late,  I  can  not 
tell  you." 

"We'll  leave  that  to  St.  Joseph." 

"  Do  so !  do  so ! "  cried  he  eagerly,  for  he  had 
a  shrewd  suspicion  he  would  have  better  chances 
of  mercy  at  any  hands  than  her  own. 

"  As  for  Gorman,  if  I  find  that  he  has  any  no- 
tions about  claiming  an  acre  of  the  property,  I'll 
put  it  all  into  Chancery,  and  the  suit  will  outlive 
him — but  if  he  owns  he  is  entirely  dependent  on 
my  bounty,  I'll  settle  the  Barn  and  the  land  on 
him,  and  the  deed  shall  be  signed  the  day  he 
marries  your  daughter.  People  tell  you  that  you 
can't  take  your  money  with  you  into  the  next 
world,  Maurice  Kearney,  and  a  greater  lie  was 
never  uttered.  Thanks  to  the  laws  of  England, 
and  the  Court  of  Equity  in  particular,  it's  the  very 
thing  you  can  do !  Ay,  and  you  can  provide,  be- 
sides, that  every  body  but  the  people  that  had  a 
right  to  it  shall  have  a  share.  So  I  say  to  Gor- 
man O'Shea,  beware  what  you  are  at,  and  don't 
go  on  repeating  that  stupid  falsehood  about  not 
carrying  your  debentures  into  the  next  world." 

"You  are  a  wise  woman,  and  you  know  life 
well,"  said  he,  solemnly. 

"And  if  I  am,  it's  nothing  to  sigh  over,  Mr. 
Kearney.  One  is  grateful  for  mercies,  but  does 
not  groan  over  them  like  rheumatism  or  the  lum- 
bago. " 

"Maybe  I'm  a  little  out  of  spirits  to-day." 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  were.  They  tell 
me  you  sat  over  your  wine  with  that  tall  man, 
last  night,  till  nigh  one  o'clock,  and  it's  not  at 
your  time  of  life  that  you  can  do  these  sort  of 
excesses  with  impunity ;  you  had  a  good  consti- 
tution once,  and  there's  not  much  left  of  it." 

"  My  patience,  I'm  grateful  to  see,  has  not 
quite  deserted  me." 

"I  hope  there's  other  of  your  virtues  you  can 


be  more  sure  of, "said  she,  rising,  "  for  if  I  was 
asked  your  worst  failing  I'd  say  it  was  your  irri- 
tability." And  with  a  stern  frown,  as  though  to 
confirm  the  judicial  severity  of  her  words,  she 
nodded  her  head  to  him  and  walked  away. 

It  was  only  then  that  Kearney  discovered  he 
was  left  alone,  and  that  Dick  had  stolen  away, 
though  when  or  how,  he  could  not  say. 

"  I'm  glad  the  boy  was  not  listening  to  her,  for 
I'm  downright  ashamed  that  I  bore  it,"  was  his 
final  reflection  as  he  strolled  out  to  take  a  walk 
in  the  plantation. 


CHAPTER  LXXX. 


A   NEW    ARRIVAL. 


Though  the  dinner-party  that  day  at  Kilgob- 
bin  Castle  was  deficient  in  the  persons  of  Lock- 
wood  and  Walpole,  the  accession  of  Joe  Atlee  to 
the  company  made  up  in  a  great  measure  for  the 
loss.  He  arrived  shortly  before  dinner  was  an- 
nounced, and  even,  in  the  few  minutes  in  the 
drawing-room,  his  gay  and  lively  manner,  his 
pleasant  flow  of  small  talk,  dashed  with  the  light- 
est of  epigrams,  and  that  marvelous  variety  he  pos- 
sessed, made  every  one  delighted  with  him. 

"I  met  Walpole  and  Lockwood  at  the  station, 
and  did  my  utmost  to  make  them  turn  back  with 
me.  You  may  laugh,  Lord  Kilgobbin,  but  in  do- 
ing the  honors  of  another  man's  house,  as  I  was 
at  that  moment,  I  deem  myself  without  a  rival." 

"I  wish  with  all  my  heart  you  had  succeeded  ; 
there  is  nothing  I  like  as  much  as  a  well-filled 
table,"  said  Kearney. 

"  Not  that  their  air  and  manner,"  resumed  Joe, 
"impressed  me  strongly  with  the  exuberance  of 
their  spirits ;  a  pair  of  drearier  dogs  I  have  not 
seen  for  some  time,  and  I  believe  I  told  them  so." 

"Did  they  explain  their  gloom,  or  even  excuse 
it  ?"  asked  Dick. 

"Except  on  the  general  grounds  of  coming 
away  from  such  fascinating  society.  Lockwood 
played  sulky,  and  scarcely  vouchsafed  a  word ; 
and  as  for  Walpole,  he  made  some  high-flown 
speeches  about  his  regrets  and  his  torn  sensibili- 
ties— so  like  what  one  reads  in  a  French  novel, 
that  the  very  sound  of  them  betrays  unreality." 

"But  was  it  then  so  very  impossible  to  be  sor- 
ry for  leaving  this  ?"  asked  Nina,  calmly. 

"Certainly  not  for  any  man  but  Walpole." 

"And  why  not  Walpole?" 

"  Can  you  ask  me?  You  who  know  people  so 
well,  and  read  them  so  clearly ;  you  to  whom  the 
secret  anatomy  of  the  '  heart'  is  no  mystery,  and 
who  understand  how  to  trace  the  fibre  of  intense 
selfishness  through  every  tissue  of  his  small  na- 
ture. He  might  be  miserable  at  being  separated 
from  himself— there  could  be  no  other  estrange- 
ment would  affect  him." 

"This  was  not  always  your  estimate  of  your 
friend, "  said  Nina,  with  a  marked  emphasis  of 
the  last  word. 

"Pardon  me,  it  was  my  unspoken  opinion  from 
the  first  hour  I  met  him.  Since  then,  some  space 
of  time  has  intervened,  and  though  it  has  made 
no  change  in  him,  I  hope  it  has  dealt  otherwise 
with  me.  I  have  at  least  reached  the  point  in 
life  where  men  not  only  have  convictions  but 
avow  them." 

"  Come,  come ;  I  can  remember  what  precious 


LORD  KIU.OHHIN. 


I'.i: 


good  luck  you  called  it  to  make  his  acquaint- 
ance." cried  Dick,  half  angrily. 

"I  don't  deny  it.  I  was  very  nigh  drowuMg 
at  the  time,  and  it  was  the  first  plank  1  caught 
hold  of.  I  am  very  grateful  to  him  for  the  res- 
cue;  but  I  owe  him  more  gratitude  for  the  op- 
portunity the  incident  gave  me  to  see  these  men 
in  their  intimacy — to  know,  and  know  thorough- 
ly, what  is  the  range,  what  the  Stamp  of  those 
minds  by  which  states  are  ruled  and  masses  are 
governed.  Through  Walpole,  I  knew  his  mas- 
ter :  and  through  the  master  I  have  come  to 
know  the  slipshod  intelligences  which,  composed 
of  official  detail,  House  of  Commons'  gossip,  and 
nines'  leaders,  are  accepted  by  us  as  statesmen. 
And  if — "  A  very  supercilious  smile  on  Nina's 
mouth  arrested  him  in  the  current  of  his  speech, 
and  he  said,  "I  know,  of  course  I  know,  the 
question  you  are  too  polite  to  ask,  hut  which 
quivers  on  your  lip — 'Who  is  the  gifted  creature 
that  sees  all  this  incompetence  and  insufficiency 
around  him  ?'  And  I  am  quite  ready  to  tell  you. 
It  is  Joseph  Atlee — Joseph  Atlee,  who  knows 
that  when  he  and  others  like  him — for  we  are  a 
strong  coterie — stop  the  supply  of  ammunition, 
these  gentlemen  must  cease  tiring.  Let  the  De- 
bats  and  the  Times,  the  Revue  de  Deux  Mondes 
and  the  Saturday,  and  a  few  more  that  I  need 
not  stop  to  enumerate,  strike  work,  and  let  us 
see  how  much  of  original  thought  you  will  ob- 
tain from  your  Cabinet  sages!  It  is  in  the  clash 
and  collision  of  the  thinkers  outside  of  responsi- 
bility that  these  world-revered  leaders  catch  the 
fire  that  lights  up  their  policy.  The  Times  made 
the  Crimean  blunder.  The  Siecle  created  the 
Mexican  fiasco.  The  Kreutz  Zeitung  gave  the 
tirst  impulse  to  the  Schleswig-IIolstein  imbroglio; 
and,  if  I  mistake  not,  the  '  review'  in  the  last  Dip- 
lomatic Chronicle  will  bear  results  of  which  he  who 
now  speaks  to  you  will  not  disown  the  parentage." 

"The  saints  be  praised,  here's  dinner!"  ex- 
claimed Kearney,  "or  this  fellow  would  talk  us 
into  a  brain  fever.  Kate  is  dining  with  Miss 
Betty  again — God  bless  her  for  it!"  muttered  he, 
as  he  gave  his  arm  to  Nina,  and  led  the  way. 

"I've  got  you  a  commission  as  a  'Peeler,' 
Dick,"said  Joe  as  they  moved  along.  "You'll 
have  to  prove  you  can  read  and  write,  which  is 
more  than  they  would  ask  of  you  if  you  were  go- 
ing into  the  Cabinet ;  but  we  live  in  an  intellect- 
ual age,  and  we  test  all  the  cabin-boys,  and  it  is 
only  the  steersman  we  take  on  trust." 

Though  Nina  was  eager  to  resent  Atlee's  im- 
pertinence on  Walpole,  she  could  not  help  feel- 
ing interested  and  amused  by  his  sketches  of  his 
travels. 

If,  in  speaking  of  Greece,  he  only  gave  the 
substance  of  the  article  he  had  written  for  the 
Rri-ue  de  l)eur  Mondes,  as  the  paper  was  yet  un- 
published, all  the  remarks  were  novel,  and  the 
anecdotes  fresh  and  sparkling.  The  tone  of 
light  banter  and  raillery  in  which  he  described 
public  life  in  Greece  and  Greek  statesmen,  might 
have  lost  some  of  its  authority  had  any  one  re- 
membered to  count  the  hours  the  speaker  had 
spent  at  Athens;  and  Nina  was  certainly  indig- 
nant at  the  hazardous  effrontery  of  tin-  criticisms. 
It  was  not,  then,  without  intention  that  she  arose 
to  retire  while  Atlee  was  relating  an  interesting 
story  of  brigandage,  and  he— determined  to  re- 
pay the  impertinence  in  kind — continued  to  re- 
count his  history  as  he  arose  to  open  the  door  for 


her  to  pass  out.  Her  insolent  look  as  she  swept 
by  was  met  by  a  smile  of  admiration  on  his  part 
thai  actually  made  her  cheek  tingle  with  anger. 

Old  Kearney  dozed  off  gently,  under  the  influ- 
ence of  names  of  places  and  persons  that  did  not 
interest  him,  and  the  two  young  men  drew  their 
chairs  to  tin'  lire,  and  grew  confidential  at  once. 

"I  think  you  have  sent  my  cousin  away  in 
had  humor,"  said  Dick. 

"I  see  it,"  said  .Joe,  as  he  slowly  puffed  his  ci- 
gar. "That  young  lady's  head  has  been  so  cru- 
elly turned  by  flattery  of  late,  that  the  man  who 
does- not  swing  incense  before  her  affronts  her." 

"Yes;  but  you  went  out  of  your  way  to  pro- 
voke her.  It  is  true  she  knows  little  of  Greece 
or  Greeks,  but  it  offends  her  to  hear  them  slight- 
ed or  ridiculed;  and  you  took  pains  to  do  both." 

"Contemptible  little  country!  with  a  mock 
army,  a  mock  treasury,  and  a  mock  Chamber. 
The  only  thing  real  is  the  debt  and  the  brigand- 
age." 

"But  why  tell  her  so?  You  actually  seemed 
bent  on  irritating  her." 

"Quite  true — so  I  was.  My  dear  Dick,  you 
have  some  lessons  to  learn  in  life,  and  one  of 
them  is,  that,  just  as  it  is  bad  heraldry  to  put  col- 
or on  color,  it  is  an  egregious  blunder  to  follow 
flattery  by  flattery.  The  woman  who  has  been 
spoiled  by  over-admiration  must  be  approached 
with  something  else  as  unlike  it  as  may  be — 
pique — annoy — irritate — outrage,  but  take  care 
that  you  interest  her.  Let  her  only  come  to  feel 
what  a  very  tiresome  thing  mere  adulation  i>. 
and  she  will  one  day  value  your  two  or  three  civil 
speeches  as  gems  of  priceless  worth.  It  is  ex- 
actly because  I  deeply  desire  to  gain  her  affec- 
tions, I  have  begun  in  this  way." 

"  You  have  come  too  late." 

"  How  do  you  mean  too  late — she  is  not  en- 
gaged?" 

"She  is  engaged — she  is  to  be  married  to 
Walpole. " 

"To  Walpole!" 

"Yes;  he  came  over  a  few  days  ago  to  ask 
her.  There  is  some  question  now — I  don't  well 
understand  it — about  some  family  consent,  or  au 
invitation — something,  I  believe,  that  Nina  in- 
sists on,  to  show  the  world  how  his  family  wel- 
come her  among  them;  and  it  is  for  this  he  has 
gone  to  London,  but  to  be  back  in  eight  or  nine 
days,  the  wedding  to  take  place  toward  the  end 
of  the  month." 

"Is  he  very  much  in  love?" 

"  I  should  say  lie  is.'' 

"And  she?  Of  course  she  could  not  possibly 
care  for  a  fellow  like  Walpole?" 

"I  don't  see  why  not.  He  is  very  much  the 
Stamp  of  man  girls  admire." 

"Not  gills  like  Nina;  not  girls  who  aspire  to 
a  position  in  life,  and  who  know  that  the  little 
talents  of  the  salon  no  more  make  a  man  of  the 
world  than  the  tricks  of  the  circus  will  make  a 
fox-hunter.  These  ambitious  women — she  is  one 
of  them — will  marry  a  hopeless  idiot  if  he  can 
bring  wealth  and  rank  ami  a  great  name;  but 
they  will  not  take  a  brainless  creature  who  has  to 

work  bis  way  up  in  the  world.  If  she  has  ac- 
cepted Walpole  there  is  pioiie  in  it.  or  ennui,  or 
thai  unca-v  desire  of  change  that  girls  suffer  from 
like  a  malady." 

"  I  can  not  tell  you  why,  but  I  know  she  ha* 
accepted  him." 


196 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"Women  are  not  insensible  to  the  value  of 
second  thoughts." 

"You  mean  she  might  throw  him  over — might  j 
jilt  him  ?" 

"I'll  not  employ  the  ugly  word  that  makes 
the  wrong  it  is  only  meant  to  indicate  ;  but  there 
are  few  of  our  resolves  in  life  to  which  we  might 
not  move  amendment,  and  the  changed  opinion 
a  woman  forms  of  a  man  before  marriage  would 
become  a  grievous  injury  if  it  happened  after." 

"But  must  she  of  necessity  change?" 

"If  she  mam-  Walpole,  I  should  say  certain- 
ly. If  a  girl  has  fair  abilities  and  a  strong  tern-  j 
per — and  Nina  has  a  good  share  of  each — she  j 
will  endure  faults,  actual  vices,  in  a  man,  but 
she'll  not  stand  littleness.  Walpole  has  nothing 
else ;  and  so  I  hope  to  prove  to  her  to-morrow 
and  the  day  after — in  fact,  during  those  eight  or 
ten  days  you  tell  me  he  will  be  absent." 

"  Will  she  let  you  ?     Will  she  listen  to  you  ?" 

"Not  at  first — at  least,  not  willingly,  or  very 
easily ;  but  I  will  show  her,  by  numerous  little 
illustrations  and  even  fables,  where  these  small 
people  not  only  spoil  their  fortunes  in  life,  but 
spoil  life  itself;  and  what  an  irreparable  blunder 
it  is  to  link  companionship  with  one  of  them.  I 
will  sometimes  make  her  laugh,  and  I  may  have 
to  make  her  cry — it  will  not  be  easy,  but  I  shall 
do  it — I  shall  certainly  make  her  thoughtful ;  and 
if  you  can  do  this  day  by  day,  so  that  a  woman 
will  recur  to  the  same  theme  pretty  much  in  the 
same  spirit,  you  must  be  a  sorry  steersman,  Mas- 
ter Dick,  but  you  will  know  how  to  guide  these  j 
thoughts  and  trace  the  channel  they  shall  follow." 

"And  supposing,  which  I  do  not  believe,  you 
could  get  her  to  break  with  Walpole,  what  could 
you  offer  her  ?" 

"Myself!" 

"Inestimable  boon,  doubtless;  but  what  of 
fortune — position  or  place  in  life  ?" 

"The  first  Napoleon  used  to  say  that  the  ' pow- 
er of  the  unknown  number  was  incommensura- 
ble ;'  and  so  I  don't  despair  of  showing  her  that  ] 
a  man  like  myself  may  be  any  thing." 

Dick  shook  his  head  doubtingly,  and  the  other  I 
went  on :   "In  this  round  game  we  call  life  it  is  i 
all  '  brag.'     The  fellow  with  the  worst  card  in  the 
pack,  if  he'll  only  risk  his  head  on  it,  keep  a  bold  | 
face  to  the  world  and  his  own  counsel,  will  be 
sure  to. win.     Bear  in  mind,  Dick,  that  for  some  i 
time  back  I  have  been  keeping  the  company  of 
these  great  swells  who  sit  highest  in  the  syna- 
gogue and  dictate  to  us  small  Publicans.     I  have  j 
listened  to   their  hesitating  counsels   and  their  ! 
uncertain  resolves;  I  have  seen  the  blotted  dis- 
patches and  equivocal  messages  given,  to  be  dis-  j 
avowed  if  needful ;  I  have  assisted  at  those  dress  j 
rehearsals,  where  speech  was  to  follow  speech,  and 
what  seemed  an  incautious  avowal  by  one  was  to  j 
be  '  improved'  into  a  bold  declaration  by  anoth- 
er, 'in  another  place;'  in  fact,  my  good  friend,  I 
have  been  near  enough  to  measure  the  mighty 
intelligences  that  direct  us,  and  if  I  were  not  a 
believer  in  Darwin  I  should  be  very  much  shock- 
ed for  what  humanity  was  coming  to.     It  is  no 
exaggeration  that  I  say,  if  you  were  to  be  in  the 
Home  Office,  and  I  at  the  Foreign  Office,  with- 
out our  names  being  divulged,  there  is  not  a  man 
or  woman  in  England  would  be  the  wiser  or  the 
worse  ;  though  if  either  of  us  were  to  take  charge  of 
the  engine  of  the  Holyhead  line,  there  would  be  a 
smash  or  an  explosion  before  we  reached  Rugby. " 


"All  that  will  not  enable  you  to  make  a  set- 
tlement on  Nina  Kostalergi." 
^No ;  but  I'll  marry  her  all  the  same." 
^1  don't  think  so." 

"  Will  you  have  a  bet  on  it,  Dick  ?  What  will 
you  wager?" 

"A  thousand — ten,  if  I  had  it;  but  I'll  give 
you  ten  pounds  on  it,  which  is  about  as  much  as 
either  of  us  could  pay." 

"Speak  for  yourself,  Master  Dick.  As  Rob- 
ert Macaire  says,  '  Je  viens  de  toucher  mes  divi- 
dendes,'and  I  am  in  no  want  of  money.  The 
fact  is,  so  long  as  a  man  can  pay  for  certain  lux- 
uries in  life  he  is  well  off:  the  strictly  necessary 
takes  care  of  itself." 

' '  Does  it  ?     I  should  like  to  know  how." 

"With  your  present  limited  knowledge  of  life. 
I  doubt  if  I  could  explain  it  to  you,  but  I  will 
try  one  of  these  mornings.  Meanwhile,  let  us  go 
into  the  drawing-room  and  get  mademoiselle  to 
sing  for  us.     She  will  sing,  I  take  it  ?" 

"  Of  course — if  asked  by  you. "  And  there  was 
the  very  faintest  tone  of  sneer  in  the  words. 

And  they  did  go,  and  mademoiselle  did  sing  all 
that  Atlee  could  ask  her  for,  and  she  was  charm- 
ing in  every  way  that  grace  and  beauty  and  the 
wish  to  please  could  make  her.  Indeed,  to  such 
extent  did  she  carry  her  fascinations  that  Joe 
grew  thoughtful  at  last,  and  muttered  to  himself, 
"There  is  vendetta  in  this.  It  is  only  a  woman 
knows  how  to  make  a  vengeance  out  of  her  at- 
tractions." 

"Why  are  you  so  serious,  Mr.  Atlee?"  asked 
she  at  last. 

"I  was  thinking — I  mean,  I  was  trying  to 
think  —  yes,  I  remember  it  now,"  muttered  he. 
"I  have  had  a  letter  for  you  all  this  time  in  my 
pocket." 

"A  letter  from  Greece?"  asked  she,  impa- 
tiently. 

' '  No — at  least  I  suspect  not.  It  was  given  me 
as  I  drove  through  the  bog  by  a  barefooted  boy, 
who  had  trotted  after  the  car  for  miles,  and  at 
length  overtook  us  by  the  accident  of  the  horse 
picking  up  a  stone  in  his  hoof.  He  said  it  was 
for  'some  one  at  the  Castle,'  and  I  offered  to 
take  charge  of  it — here  it  is,"  and  he  produced  a 
square-shaped  envelope  of  common  coarse-look- 
ing paper,  sealed  with  red  wax,  and  a  shamrock 
for  impress. 

"A  begging  letter,  I  should  say,  from  the  out- 
side," said  Dick. 

"Except  that  there  is  not  one  so  poor  as  to 
ask  aid  from  we,"  added  Nina,  as  she  took  the 
document,  glanced  at  the  writing,  and  placed  it 
in  her  pocket. 

As  they  separated  for  the  night,  and  Dick  trot- 
ted up  the  stairs  at  Atlee's  side,  he  said,  "I  don't 
think,  after  all,  my  ten  pounds  is  so  safe  as  I  fan- 
cied." 

"  Don't  you  ?"  replied  Joe.  "  My  impressions 
are  all  the  other  way,  Dick.  It  is  her  courtesy 
that  alarms  me.  The  effort  to  captivate  where 
there  is  no  stake  to  win,  means  mischief.  She'll 
make  me  in  love  with  her  whether  I  will  or  not." 
The  bitterness  of  his  tone,  and  the  impatient  bang 
he  gave  his  door  as  he  passed  in,  betrayed  more 
of  temper  than  was  usual  for  him  to  display,  and 
as  Dick  sought  his  room,  he  muttered  to  himself, 
"I'm  glad  to  see  that  these  overcunning  fellows 
are  sure  to  "meet  their  match,  and  get  beaten  even 
at  the  game  of  their  own  invention." 


LORD   KILC.OBBIN. 


L91 


CHAPTEK  I. XXXI. 

AN  CNLOOKED-FOB  COKKE8PONDEKT. 

It  was  no  uncommon  thing  for  the  tenants  to 
address  petitiona  and  complaints  in  writing  to 
Kate,  and  it  occurred  to  Nina  as  not  impossible 
that  some  one  might  have  bethought  him  of  en- 
treating her  intercession  in  their  favor.  The  look 
of  the  letter,  and  the  coarse  wax,  and  the  writing, 
all  in  a  measure  strengthened  this  impression,  and 
it  was  in  the  most  careless  of  moods  she  broke 
the  envelope,  scarcely  caring  to  look  for  the  name 
of  the  writer,  whom  she  was  convinced  must  be 
unknown  to  her. 

She  had  just  let  her  hair  fall  freely  down  on 
her  neck  and  shoulders,  and  was  seated  in  a  deep 
chair  before  her  fire,  as  she  opened  the  paper  and 
read,  "Mademoiselle  Kostalergi."  This  begin- 
ning, so  unlikely  for  a  peasant,  made  her  turn  for 
the  name,  and  she  read,  in  a  large  full  hand,  the 
words  "  Daniel  Donooan,"  So  complete  was 
her  surprise,  that,  to  satisfy  herself  there  was  no 
trick  or  deception,  she  examined  the  envelope  ami 
the  seal,  and  reflected  for  some  minutes  over  the 
mode  in  which  the  document  had  come  to  her 
hands.  Atlee's  story  was  a  very  credible  one : 
nothing  more  likely  than  that  the  boy  was  charged 
to  deliver  the  letter  at  the  Castle,  and  simply 
sought  to  spare  himself  so  many  miles  of  way,  or 
it  might  be  that  he  was  enjoined  to  give  it  to  the 
first  traveler  he  met  on  his  road  to  Kilgobbin. 
Nina  had  little  doubt  that  if  Atlee  guessed  or 
had  reason  to  know  the  writer,  he  would  have 
treated  the  letter  as  a  secret  missive  which  would 
give  him  a  certain  power  over  her. 

These  thoughts  did  not  take  her  long,  and  she 
turned  once  more  to  the  letter.      "Poor  fellow," 
<aid   Bhe,  aloud,  "why  does  he  write  to   mef 
And  her  own  voice  sent  back  its  surmises  to  her, 
and  as  she  thought  over  him  standing  on  the 
lonely  road,  his  clasped  hands  before   him,  and 
his  hair  wafted  wildly  back  from  his  uncovered 
head,  two   heavy   tears    rolled   slowly  down  her 
cheeks  and  dropped   upon  her   neck.      "I  ami 
sure  he  loved  me  —  I  know  he  loved  me,"  mut-  ; 
tered  she,  half  aloud.     "I  have  never  seen  in' 
any  eye  the  same  expression  that  his  wore  as  he  ! 
lay  that  morning  in  the  grass.     It  was  not  vener-  I 
ation.  it  was  genuine  adoration.     Had  I  been  a 
saint  and  wanted  worship,  there  was  the  very  of-  | 
fering  that  I  craved — a  look  of  painful  meaning, 
made   up  of  wonder  and  devotion,  a  something 
that  said — take  what  course  you  may,  be  willful, 
!)■■    wayward,  be   even    cruel,   I   am   your   slave. 
You  may  not  think  me  worthy  of  a  thought,  you 
may  be  so  indifferent  as  to  forget  me  utterly,  but 
my  life  from  this  hour  has  but  one  spell  to  charm, 
one  memory  to  sustain  it.      It  needed  not  his  last 
words  to  me  to  Bay  that  my  image  would  lay  on 
his  heart  forever,      l'oor  fellow,  /  need  not  "have  I 
been  added  to  his  sorrows;   he  lias  had  his  share 
of  trouble,  without  me!" 

It  was  some  time  ere  she  could  return  to  the 
letter,  which  ran  thus: 

"Mademoiselle    Kostalergi, — You   once 

rendered  me  a  great  service — not  alone  at  some  haz- 
ard to  yourself,  but  by  doing  what  must  have  cosl 

you  sorely.  It  is  now  my  turn,  and  if  the  ftCl  of 
repayment  is  not  equal  to  the  original  debt,  let  me 
ask  you  to  believe  that  it  taxes  my  strength  even 
more  than  your  generosity  once  taxed  your  own. 


"I  came  here  a  few  days  since  m  the  hope 
that  I  might  see  you  before  I   leave   Inland  for- 

ever,  and  while  waiting  for  Borne  fortunate  chance, 

I  learned  that  you  were  betrothed  and  to  be  mar- 
ried to  the  young  gentleman  who  lies  ill  at  Kil- 
gobbin, and  whose  approaching  trial  at  the  As- 
sizes is  now  the  subject  of  so  much  discussion.  I 
will  not  tell  you— I  have  no  right  to  tell  you — 
the  deep  misery  with  which  these  tidings  filled 
me.  It  was  no  use  to  teach  my  heart  how  vain 
and  impossible  were  all  my  hopes  with  regard  to 
you.  It  was  to  no  purpose  that  I  could  repeat 
even  aloud  to  myself  how  hopeless  my  pretensions 
must  be.  My  love  for  you  had  become  a  religion, 
and  what  I  could  deny  to  a  hope  I  could  still  be- 
lieve. Take  that  hope  away,  and  I  could  not  im- 
agine how  I  should  face  my  daily  life,  how  interest 
myself  in  its  ambitions,  and  even  care  to  live  on. 

"These  sad  confessions  can  not  offend  you, 
coming  from  one  even  as  humble  as  I  am.  They 
are  all  that  are  left  me  for  consolation— they  wiil 
soon  be  all  I  shall  have  for  memory.  The  little 
lamp  in  the  lowly  shrine  comforts  the  kneeling 
worshiper  far  more  than  it  honors  the  saint;  and 
the  love  I  bear  you  is,  suck  as  this.  Forgive  me 
if  I  have  dared  these  utterances.  To  save  him 
with  whose  fortunes  your  own  are  to  be  bound 
up,  became  at  once  my  object ;  and  as  I  knew 
with  what  ingenuity  and  craft  his  ruin  had  been 
compassed,  it  required  all  my  elforts  to  bailie  his 
enemies.  The  National  Press  and  the  National 
Party  have  made  a  great  cause  of  this  trial,  and 
determined  that  tenant-right  should  be  vindicated 
in  the  person  of  this  man  Gill. 

"I  have  seen  enough  of  what  is  intended  here 
to  be  aware  what  mischief  may  be  worked  by 
hard  swearing,  a  violent  press,  and  a  jury  not  in- 
sensible to  public  opinion  —  evils,  if  you  like,  but 
evils  that  are  less  of  our  own  growing  than  the 
curse  ill  government  has  brought  upon  us.  It 
has  been  decided  in  certain  councils — whose  de- 
crees are  seldom  gainsaid  —  that  an  example 
shall  lwj  made  of  Captain  Gorman  (('Shea,  and 
that  no  effort  shall  be  spared  to  make  his  case  a 
terror  and  a  warning  to  Irish  land-owners,  how 
they  attempt  by  ancient  process  of  law  to  subvert 
the  concessions  we  have  wrung  from  our  tyrants 

"A  jury  to  find  him  guilty  will  be  sworn  ;  and 
let  us  see  the  judge — in  defiance  of  a  verdict  given 
from  the  jury-box.  without  a  moment's  hesitation 
or  the  shadow  of  dissent — let  us  see  the  judge  w  ho 
will  dare  to  diminish  the  severity  of  tlie  sentence. 
This  is  the  language,  these  are  the  very  words, 
of  those  who  have  more  of  the  rule  of  Ireland  in 
their  hands  than  the  haughty  gentlemen,  honor- 
able and  right  honorable,  who  sit  at  Whitehall. 

"  I  have  heard  this  opinion  too  often  of  late  to 
doubl  how  much  it  is  a  fixed  determination  of  the 
party;  and  until  now  —  until  I  cam"  here,  and 
learned  what  interest  this  fact  could  have  for  me 
—  I  offered  no  opposition  to  these  reasonings. 
Since  then  I  have  bestirred  myself  actively.  I 
have  addressed'  the  committee  here  who  have 

taken  charge  of  the  prosecution.  I  have  written 
to  the  editors  of  the  chief  newspapers.  I  have 
even  made  a  direct  appeal  to  the  leading  counsel 
for  the  prosecution,  and  tried  to  persuade  them 
that  a  victory  here  might  COSt  UB  more  than  a  de- 
feat, and  that  the  country  at  large,  who  submit 
with  difficulty  to  the  verdict  of  absolving  juries, 
will  rise  with  indignation  at  this  evidence  of  a 
jury  prepared  to  exercise  a  vindictive  power,  and 


198 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


actually  make  the  law  the  agent  of  reprisal.  I 
have  failed  in  all— utterly  failed.  Some  reproach 
me  as  faint-hearted  and  craven ;  some  conde- 
scend to  treat  me  as  merely  mistaken  and  mis- 
guided ;  and  some  are  bold  enough  to  hint  that, 
though  as  a  military  authority  I  stand  without 
rivalry,  as  a  purely  political  adviser  my  counsels 
are  open  to  dispute. 

"I  have  still  a  power,  however,  through  the 
organization  of  which  I  am  a  chief;  and  by  this 
power  I  have  ordered  Gill  to  appear  before  me, 
and,  in  obedience  to  my  commands,  he  will  sail 
this  night  for  America.  With  him  will  also  leave 
the  two  other  important  witnesses  in  this  cause ; 
so  that  the  only  evidence  against  Captain  O'Shea 
will  be  some  of  those  against  whom  he  has  him- 
self instituted  a  cross  charge  for  assault.  That 
the  prosecution  can  be  carried  on  with  such  testi- 
mony need  not  be  feared.  Our  Press  will  de- 
nounce the  infamous  arts  by  which  these  witness- 
es have  been  tampered  with,  and  justice  has  been 
defeated.  The  insults  they  may  hurl  at  our  op- 
pressors— for  once  unjustly — will  furnish  matter 
for  the  opposition  journals  to  inveigh  against  our 
present  Government,  and  some  good  may  come 
even  of  this.  At  all  events,  I  shall  have  accom- 
plished what  I  sought.  I  shall  have  saved  from 
a  prison  the  man  I  hate  most  on  earth,  the  man 
who,  robbing  me  of  what  never  could  be  mine, 
robs  me  of  every  hope,  of  every  ambition,  making 
my  love  as  worthless  as  my  life !  Have  I  not  re- 
paid you  ?  Ask  your  heart  which  of  us  has  done 
more  for  the  other  ? 

"The  contract  on  which  Gill  based  his  right 
as  a  tenant,  and  which  would  have  sustained  his 
action,  is  now  in  my  hands;  and  I  will — if  you 
permit  me — place  it  in  yours.  This  may  appear 
an  ingenious  device  to  secure  a  meeting  with  you  ; 
but,  though  I  long  to  see  you  once  more,  were  it 
but  a  minute,  I  would  not  compass  it  by  a  fraud. 
If,  then,  you  will  not  see  me,  I  shall  address  the 
packet  to  you  through  the  post. 

"I  have  finished.  I  have  told  you  what  it 
most  concerns  you  to  know,  and  what  chiefly  re- 
gards your  happiness.  I  have  done  this  as  cold- 
ly and  impassively,  I  hope,  as  though  I  had  no 
other  part  in  the  narrative  than  that  of  the  friend 
whose  friendship  had  a  blessed  office.  I  have 
not  told  you  of  the  beating  heart  that  hangs  over 
this  paper,  nor  will  I  darken  one  bright  moment 
of  your  fortune  by  the  gloom  of  mine.  If  you 
will  write  me  one  line— a  farewell  if  it  must  be— 
send  it  to  the  care  of  Adam  Cobb,  '  Cross  Keys,' 
Moate,  where  I  shall  find  it  up  to  Thursday  next. 
If — and  oh  !  how  I  shall  bless  you  for  it — if  you 
will  consent  to  see  me,  to  say  one  word,  to  let 
me  look  on  you  once  more,  I  shall  go  into  my 
banishment  with  a  bolder  heart,  as  men  go  into 
battle  with  an  amulet. 

"  Daniel  Donogak." 

"Shall  I  show  this  to  Kate?"  was  the  first 
thought  of  Nina  as  she  laid  the  letter  down.  "  Is 
it  a  breach  of  confidence  to  let  another  than  my- 
self read  these  lines  ?  Assuredly  they  were  meant 
for  my  eyes  alone.  Poor  fellow ! "  said  she,  once 
more  aloud.  "It  was  very  noble  in  him  to  do 
this  for  one  he  could  not  but  regard  as  a  rival." 
And  then  she  asked  herself  how  far  it  might  con- 
sist with  honor  to  derive  benefit  from  his  mistake 
— since  mistake  it  was — in  believing  O'Shea  was 
her  lover,  and  to  be  her  future  husband. 


"There  can  be  little  doubt  Donogan  would 
never  have  made  the  sacrifice  had  he  known  that 
I  am  about  to  marry  Walpole."  From  this  she 
rambled  on  to  speculate  on  how  far  might  Don- 
ogan's  conduct  compromise  or  endanger  him  with 
his  own  party,  and  if — which  she  thought  very 
probable — there  was  a  distinct  peril  in  what  he 
was  doing,  whether  he  would  have  incurred  that 
peril  if  he  really  knew  the  truth,  and  that  it  was 
not  herself  he  was  serving. 

The  more  she  canvassed  these  doubts,  the  more 
she  found  the  difficulty  of  resolving  them ;  nor  in- 
deed was  there  any  other  way  than  one — distinct- 
ly to  ask  Donogan  if  he  would  persist  in  his  kind 
intentions  when  he  knew  that  the  benefit  was  to 
revert  to  her  cousin,  and  not  to  herself.  So  far 
as  the  evidence  of  Gill  at  the  trial  was  concerned, 
the  man's  withdrawal  was  already  accomplished ; 
but  would  Donogan  be  as  ready  to  restore  the 
lease,  and  would  he,  in  fact,  be  as  ready  to  con- 
front the  danger  of  all  this  interference,  as  at  first? 
She  could  scarcely  satisfy  her  mind  how  she  would 
wish  him  to  act  in  the  contingency.  She  was 
sincerely  fond  of  Kate,  she  knew  all  the  traits  of 
honesty  and  truth  in  that  simple  character,  and 
she  valued  the  very  qualities  of  straightforward- 
ness and  direct  purpose  in  which  she  knew  she 
was  herself  deficient.  She  would  have  liked  well 
to  secure  that  dear  girl's  happiness,  and  it  would 
have  been  an  exquisite  delight  to  her  to  feel  that 
she  had  been  an  aid  to  her  welfare ;  and  yet,  with 
all  this,  there  was  a  subtle  jealousy  that  tortured 
her  in  thinking,  "What  will  this  man  have  done 
to  prove  his  love  for  me  ?  Where  am  I,  and  are 
my  interests  in  all  this?"  There  was  a  poison 
in  this  doubt  that  actually  extended  to  a  state  of 
fever.  "I  must  see  him,"  she  said  at  last,  speak- 
ing aloud  to  herself.  "I  must  let  him  know  the 
truth.  If  what  he  proposes  should  lead  him  to 
break  with  his  party  or  his  friends,  it  is  well  he 
should  see  for  what  and  for  whom  he  is  doing  it." 

And  then  she  persuaded  herself  she  would  like 
to  hear  Donogan  talk  as  once  before  she  had  heard 
him  talk  of  his  hopes  and  his  ambitions.  There 
was  something  in  the  high-sounding  aspirations 
of  the  man,  a  lofty  heroism  in  all  he  said,  that 
struck  a  chord  in  her  Greek  nature.  The  cause 
that  was  so  intensely  associated  with  danger,  that 
life  was  always  on  the  issue,  was  exactly  the  thing 
to  excite  her  heart,  and,  like  the  trumpet-blast 
to  the  charger,  she  felt  stirred  to  her  inmost  soul 
by  whatever  appealed  to  reckless  daring  and  per- 
il. "He  shall  tell  me  what  he  intends  to  do — 
his  plans,  his  projects,  and  his  troubles.  He  shall 
tell  me  of  his  hopes,  what  he  desires  in  the  fu- 
ture, and  where  he  himself  will  stand  when  his 
efforts  have  succeeded ;  and,  oh ! "  thought  she, 
"are  not  the  wild  extravagances  of  these  men 
better  a  thousand  times  than  the  well-turned  noth- 
ings of  the  fine  gentlemen  who  surround  us  ?  Are 
not  their  very  risks  and  vicissitudes  more  manly 
teachings  than  the  small  casualties  of  the  polish- 
ed world  ?  If  life  were  all  '  salon, '  taste,  perhaps, 
might  decide  against  them ;  but  it  is  not  all  '  sa- 
lon,' or,  if  it  were,  it  would  be  a  poorer  thing  even 
than  I  think  it!"  She  turned  to  her  desk  as  she 
said  this,  and  wrote : 

"Dear  Mr.  Donogan, — I  wish  to  thank  you 
in  person  for  the  great  kindness  you  have  shown 
me,  though  there  is  some  mistake  on  your  part 
in  the  matter.     I  can  not  suppose  you  are  able 


LORD  KILCOBBIN. 


l«.»«.i 


to  come  here  openly,  bat  if  yon  will  be  in  the  gar- 
den on  Saturday  evening  at  nine  o'clock,  I  shall 
be  there  to  meet  you.     I  an  very  truly  yours, 

"  Nina  1vostai.ku..i. " 

"Very  imprudent — scarce  delicate — perhaps, 
all  this,  and  for  a  girl  who  is  to  he  married  to 
another  man  in  some  three  weeks  hence;  but  1 1 
will  tell  Cecil  Walpole  all  when  he  returns,  and 
if  he  desires  to  be  off  his  engagement  he  shall 
hare  the  liberty.  I  have  one-half  at  least  of  the 
Bayard  legend,  and,  if  I  can  not  say  1  am  'with- 
out reproach' — I  am  certainly  without  fear." 

The  letter-bag  lay  in  the  hall,  and  Nina  went 
down  at  once  and  deposited  her  letter  in  it;  this 
done,  she  lay  down  on  her  bed,  not  to  sleep,  but  to 
think  over  Donogan  and  his  letter  till  daybreak. 


CHAPTER  LXXXII. 

THE    BREAKFAST-KOOM. 

"Strange  house  this!"  said  Joseph  Atlee,  as 
Nina  entered  the  room  the  next  morning  where  ■ 
he  sat  alone  at  breakfast.  "Lord  Kilgobbin 
and  Dick  were  here  a  moment  ago,  and  disap- 
peared suddenly:  Miss  Kearney  for  an  instant,  j 
and  also  left  as  abruptly  ;  and  now  you  have 
come,  I  most  earnestly  hope  not  to  fly  away  in 
the  same  fashion."' 

"  No ;  I  mean  to  eat  my  breakfast,  and  so  far 
to  keep  you  company." 

"I  thank  the  tea-urn  for  my  good-fortune," 
saitl  he,  solemnly. 

"A  tete-a-tete  with  Mr.  Atlee  is  a  piece  of 
good  luck,"  said  Nina,  as  she  sat  down.  "Has 
any  tiling  occurred  to  call  our  hosts  away?" 

"In  a  house  like  this,"  said  he,  jocularly, 
"where  people  are  marrying  or  giving  in  mar- 
riage at  every  turn,  what  may  not  happen  ?  It 
may  be  a  question  of  the  settlement,  or  the  bride-  j 
cake,  the  white  satin  '  slip' — if  that's  the  name 
for  it,  the  orange-flowers,  or  the  choice  of  the 
best  man — who  knows ?" 

"You  seem  to  know  the  whole  bead-roll  of 
wedding  incidents." 

"  It  is  a  dull  '  repertoire'  after  all,  for  whether 
the  piece  be  melodrama,  farce,  genteel  comedy, 
or  harrowing  tragedy,  it  has  to  be  played  by  the 
same  actors." 

"What  would  you  have — marriages  can  not 
be  all  alike.  There  must  be  marriages  for  many 
things  besides  love :  for  ambition,  for  interest, 
for  money,  for  convenience." 

••Convenience  is  exactly  the  phrase  I  wanted 
and  could  not  catch." 

"  It  is  not  the  word  /  wanted,  nor  do  I  think 
we  mean  the  same  thing  by  it." 

"What  I  mean  is  this,"  said  Atlee,  with  a 
firm  voice,  "that  when  a  young  girl  has  decided 
in  her  own  mind  that  she  has  had  enough  of 
that  social  bondage  of  the  daughter,  and  can  in  it 
marry  the  man  she  would  like,  she  will  marry  the 
man  that  she  can." 

"And  like  him,  too,"  added  Nina,  with  a 
strange,  dubious  sort  of  smile. 

"Yes,  and  like  him,  too,  for  there  is  a  curious 
feature  in  the  woman's  nature  that,  without  any 
falsehood  or  disloyalty,  permits  her  to  like  differ- 
ent people  in  different  ways,  so  that  the  quiet, 
gentle,  almost  impassive  woman  might,  if  differ- 


ently mated,  have  been  a  being  of  fervid  temper, 

headstrong  and  passionate,     If  it  were  not  tor 

this   species  of  accoimnodalion,  marriage   would 
be  a  Worse  thing  than  it  is" 

"I  never  Buspeoted  you  of  having  made  a 

study  of  the  subject.      Since  when  have  VOH  de- 
voted your  attention  to  the  theme?" 

"I  could  answer  in  the  words  of  Wilkes— 
since  1  have  had  the  honor  to  know  your  royal 

highness.-  but  perhaps  you  might  be  displeased 
with  the  flippancy." 

"  I  should  think  that  very  probable,"  said  she, 
gravely. 

"Don't  look  so  serious.  Remember  that  1 
did  not  commit  myself,  alter  all." 

"  1  thought  it  was  possible  to  discuss  this  prob- 
lem without  a  personality." 

"  Don't  you  know  that,  let  one  deal  in  ab- 
stractions as  long  as  he  will,  he  is  only  skirmish- 
ing around  special  instances?  It  is  out  of  what 
I  glean  from  individuals  I  make  up  my  general- 
ities." 

"Am  I  to  understand  by  this  that  I  have  sup- 
plied you  with  the  material  of  one  of  these  re- 
flections ?" 

"You  have  given  me  the  subject  of  many. 
If  I  were  to  tell  you  how  often  I  have  thought 
of  you,  I  could  not  answer  for  the  words  in  which 
I  might  tell  it." 

"Do  not  tell  it,  then." 

"  I  know — I  am  aware — I  have  heard  since  I 
came  here  that  there  is  a  special  reason  why  you 
could  not  listen  to  me." 

"And  being  so,  why  do  you  propose  that  1 
should  hear  you?" 

"I  will  tell  you,"  said  he,  with  an  earnestness 
that  almost  startled  her;  "I  will  tell  you,  be- 
cause there  are  things  in  which  a  doubt  or  an 
equivocation  is  actually  maddening;  and  I  will 
not,  I  can  not  believe  that  you  have  accepted 
Cecil  Walpole." 

"Will  you  please  to  say  why  it  should  seem 
so  incredible?" 

"Because  I  have  seen  you  not  merely  in  ad- 
miration, and  that  admiration  would  be  better 
conveyed  by  a  stronger  word;  and  because  I 
have  measured  you  with  others  infinitely  beneath 
you  in  every  way,  and  who  are  yet  soaring  into 
Very  high  regions  indeed ;  because  I  have  (earned 
enough  of  the  world  to  know  that  alongside  of— 
often  above— the  influence  that  men  are  wielding 
in  life  by  their  genius  and  their  Capacity,  there  is 
another  power  exercised  by  women  of  marvelous 
beauty,  of  infinite  attractions,  and  exquisite  grace, 
which  sways  and  moulds  the  fate  of  mankind  far 
more  than  cabinets  and  councils.  There  are  not 
above  half  a  dozen  of  these  in  Europe,  and  you 
might  be  one  added  to  the  number." 

••Kven  admitting  all  this— and  I  don't  see 
that  I  should  go  so  far— it  is  no  answer  to  my 
question." 

"Must  I  then  say  there  can  be  no — not  com- 
panionship, that's  not  the.  word  ;  no,  I  must  take 
the  French  expression,  and  call  it  "solidarite" — 
there  can  be  no  solidarity  of  interests,  of  objects, 
of  passions,  or  of  hopes  between  people  so  Widely 
dissevered  a-  you  and  Walpole.  1  am  so  con- 
vinced of  this,"  that  still  I  can  dare  to  declare  I 
can  not  believe  you  could  marry  him." 

'•  And  if  I  were  to  tell  you  it  were  true?" 

"I  should  still  regard  it  as  a  passing  caprice, 
that  the  mere  mention  of  to-morrow  would  of- 


•_T,() 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


fend  you.  It  is  no  disparagement  of  Walpole 
to  say  he  is  unworthy  of  you,  for  who  would  be 
worthy  ?  but  the  presumption  of  his  daring  is 
enough  to  excite  indignation — at  least,  I  feel  it 
such.  How  he  could  dare  to  link  his  supreme 
littleness  with  consummate  perfection  ;  to  freight 
the  miserable  bark  of  his  fortunes  with  so  pre- 
cious a  cargo;  to  encounter  the  feeling  —  and 
there  is  no  escape  for  it — 'I  must  drag  that 
woman  down,  not  alone  into  obscurity,  but  into 
all  the  sordid  meanness  of  a  small  condition,  that 
never  can  emerge  into  any  thing  better.'  He 
can  not  disguise  from  himself  that  it  is  not  with- 
in his  reach  to  attain  power,  or  place,  or  high 
consideration.  Such  men  make  no  name  in  life ; 
they  leave  no  mark  on  their  time.  They  are 
heaven-bom  subordinates,  and  never  refute  their 
destiny.  Does  a  woman  with  ambition — does  a 
woman  conscious  of  her  own  great  merits  con- 
descend to  ally  herself,  not  alone  with  small  for- 
tune— that  might  be  borne — but  with  the  smaller 
associations  that  make  up  these  men's  lives  ?  with 
the  peddling  efforts  to  mount  even  one  rung  high- 
er of  that  crazy  little  ladder  of  their  ambition — 
to  be  a  clerk  of  another  grade — a  creature  of  some 
fifty  pounds  more — a  being  in  an  upper  office  ?" 

"And  the  Prince — for  he  ought  to  be  at  least 
a  prince  who  should  make  me  the  offer  of  his 
name— whence  is  he  to  come,  Mr.  Atlee  ?" 

' '  There  are  men  who  are  not  born  to  princely 
station  who,  by  their  genius  and  their  determina- 
tion, are  just  as  sure  to  become  famous,  and  who 
need  but  the  glorious  prize  of  such  a  woman's 
love —  No,  no,  don't  treat  what  I  say  as  rant  and 
rodomontade ;  these  are  words  of  sober  sense 
and  seriousness." 

"Indeed!"  said  she,  with  a  faint  sigh.  "So 
that  it  really  amounts  to  this — that  I  shall  actu- 
ally have  missed  my  whole  fortune  in  life — thrown 
myself  away — all  because  I  had  not  waited  for 
Mr.  Atlee  to  propose  for  me?" 

Nothing  less  than  Atlee's  marvelous  assur- 
ance and  self-possession  could  have  sustained 
this  speech  unabashed. 

"You  have  only  said  what  my  heart  has  told 
me  many  a  day  since." 

"But  you  seem  to  forget,"  added  she,  with  a 
very  faint  curl  of  scorn  on  her  lip,  "that  I  had 
no  more  to  guide  me  to  the  discover}'  of  Mr.  Al- 
ice's affection  than  to  that  of  his  future  great- 
ness. Indeed,  I  could  more  readily  believe  in 
the  latter  than  the  former." 

"Believe  in  both,"  cried  he,  warmly.  "If 
I  have  conquered  difficulties  in  life,  if  I  have 
achieved  some  successes — now  for  a  passing  tri- 
umph, now  for  a  moment  of  gratified  vanity, 
now  for  a  mere  caprice — try  me  by  a  mere  hope 
— I  only  plead  for  a  hope — try  me  by  a  hope  of 
being  one  day  worthy  of  calling  that  hand  my 
own." 

As  he  spoke,  he  tried  to  grasp  her  hand  ;  but 
she  withdrew  it  coldly  and  slowly,  saying,  "I 
have  no  fancy  to  make  myself  the  prize  of  any 
success  in  life,  political  or  literary  ;  nor  can  I 
believe  that  the  man  who  reasons  in  this  fashion 
lias  any  really  high  ambition.  Mr.  Atlee,"  add- 
ed she,  more  gravely,  "your  memory  may  not 
be  as  good  as  mine,  and  you  will  pardon  me  if  I 
remind  you  that,  almost  at  our  first  meeting,  we 
struck  up  a  sort  of  friendship,  on  the  very  equiv- 
ocal ground  of  a  common  country.  We  agreed 
that  each  of  us  claimed  for  their  native  land  the 


mythical  Bohemia,  and  we  agreed,  besides,  that 
the  natives  of  that  country  are  admirable  col- 
leagues, but  not  good  partners." 

"You  are  not  quite  fair  in  this,"  he  began  ; 
but  before  he  could  say  more  Dick  Kearney  en- 
tered hurriedly,  and  cried  out,  "It's  all  true. 
The  people  are  in  wild  excitement,  and  all  de- 
clare that  they  will  not  let  him  be  taken.  Oh! 
I  forgot,"  added  he.  "  You  were  not  here  when 
my  father  and  I  were  called  away  by  the  dis- 
patch from  the  police  station,  to  say  that  Dono- 
gan  has  been  seen  at  Moate,  and  is  "about  to  hold 
a  meeting  on  the  bog.  Of  course,  this  is  mere 
rumor ;  but  the  constabulary  are  determined  to 
capture  him,  and  Curtis  has  written  to  inform 
my  father  that  a  party  of  police  will  patrol  the 
grounds  here  this  evening." 

"And  if  they  should  take  him,  what  would 
happen — to  him,  I  mean?"  asked  Nina,  coldly. 

"An  escaped  convict  is  usually  condemned  to 
death  ;  but  I  suppose  they  would  not  hang  him," 
said  Dick. 

"Hang  him!"  cried  Atlee;  "nothing  of  the 
kind.  Mr.  Gladstone  would  present  him  with  a 
suit  of  clothes,  a  ten-pound  note,  and  a  first-class 
passage  to  America.  He  would  make  a  'heal- 
ing measure'  of  him." 

"I  must  say,  gentlemen,"  said  Nina,  scorn- 
fully, "you  can  discuss  your  friend's  fate  with  a 
marvelous  equanimity." 

"So  we  do,"  rejoined  Atlee.  "He  is  another 
Bohemian." 

"Don't  say  so,  sir,"  said  she,  passionately. 
"The  men  who  put  their  lives  on  a  venture — 
and  that  venture  not  a  mere  gain  to  themselves — 
are  in  nowise  the  associates  of  those  poor  adven- 
turers' who  are  gambling  for  their  daily  living. 
He  is  a  rebel,  if  you  like ;  but  he  believes  in  rebell- 
ion.    How  much  do  you  believe  in,  Mr.  Atlee  ?" 

"I  say,  Joe,  you  are  getting  the  worst  of  this 
discussion.  Seriously,  however,  I  hope  they'll 
not  catch  poor  Donogan  ;  and  my  father  has 
asked  Curtis  to  come  over  and  dine  here,  and  I 
trust  to  a  good  fire  and  some  old  claret  to  keep 
him  quiet  for  this  evening,  at  least.  We  must 
not  molest  the  police  ;  but  there's  no  great  harm 
done  if  we  mislead  them." 

"Once  in  the  drawing-room,  if  Mademoiselle 
Kostalergi  will  only  condescend  to  aid  us,"  added 
Atlee,  "I  think  Curtis  will  be  more  than  a  chief 
constable  if  he  will  bethink  him  of  his  duty." 

"You  are  a  strange  set  of  people,  you  Irish," 
said  Nina,  as  she  walked  away.  "Even  such 
of  you  as  don't  want  to  overthrow  the  Govern- 
ment, are  always  ready  to  impede  its  march  and 
contribute  to  its  difficulties." 

"She  only  meant  that  for  an  impertinence," 
said  Atlee,  after  she  left  the  room;  "but  she 
was  wonderfully  near  the  truth,  though  not  truth-, 
fully  expressed." 


CHAPTER  LXXXIII. 

THE    GARDEN    BY    MOONLIGHT. 

There  was  but  one  heavy  heart  at  the  din- 
ner-table that  day;  but  Nina's  pride  was  proof 
against  any  disclosure  of  suffering,  and,  though 
she  was  tortured  by  anxiety  and  fevered  with 
doubt,  none — not  even  Kate — suspected  that  any 
care  weighed  on  her. 

As  for  Kate  herself,  her  happiness  beamed  in 


LOUD  KILGOBBIN. 


.'in 


.<very  lino  ami  lineament  of  her  handsome  face 
The  captain — to  give  him  the  name  by  which  he 
was  known-  had  been  np  thai  day,  and  parta- 
ken of  an  afternoon  tea  with  his  aunt  and  Kate. 

Her  spirits  were  excellent,  ami  all  the  promise  of 
the  future  was  rose-colored  and  bright  The  lit- 
tle cloud  of  what  trouble  the  trial  might  bring 
was  not  Buffered  to  darken  the  cheerful  meeting, 
and  it  was  the  one  only  hitter  in  their  cup. 

To  divert  Curtis  from  this  theme,  on  which, 
with  the  accustomed  mal  a  pro/ios  of  an  awkward 
man,  he  wished  to  talk,  the  young  men  led  him 
to  the  mbject  of  Donogan  and  his  party. 

■•  I  believe  well  take  him  this  time,"  said  Cur- 
tis. "He  must,  have  some  close  relations  with 
some  one  about  Moate  or  Kilheggan,  for  it  is  re- 
marked he  can  not  keep  away  from  the  neighbor- 
hood :  hut  who  are  his  friends,  or  what  they  are 
meditating,  we  can  not  guess." 

••If  what  Mademoiselle  Kostalergi  said  this 
morning  he  correct,"  remarked  Atlee,  conjecture 
is  unnecessary.  She  told  Dick  and  myself  that 
every  Irishman  is  at  heart  a  rebel." 

"  I  said  more  or  less  of  one,  Mr.  Atlee,  since 
there  are  some  who  have  not  the  courage  of  their 
opinions." 

"  I  hope  you  are  gratified  by  the  emendation," 
whispered  Dick  ;  and  then  added,  aloud,  "Dono- 
gan is  not  one  of  these." 

"  He's  a  consummate  fool, "cried  Curtis,  blunt- 
ly, "lie  thinks  the  attack  of  a  police  barrack 
or  the  capture  of  a  few  firelocks  will  revolutionize 
Ireland." 

"He  forgets  that  there  are  twelve  thousand  po- 
lice, officered  by  such  men  as  yourself,  captain," 
said  Nina,  gravely. 

"Well,  there  might  be  worse,"  rejoined  Cur- 
tis, doggedly,  for  he  was  not  quite  sure  of  the  sin- 
cerity of  the  speaker. 

"  What  will  you  be  the  better  of  taking  him  ?" 
said  Kilgohhin.  "If  the  whole  tree  be  perni- 
cious, where's  the  use  of  plucking  one  leaf  off  it  ?" 

"The  captain  has  nothing  to  do  with  that," 
said  Atlee,  "  any  more  than  a  hound  has  to  dis- 
cuss the  morality  of  fox-hunting — his  business  is 
the  pursuit." 

"I  don't  like  your  simile,  Mr.  Atlee,"  said 
Nina,  while  she  whispered  some  words  to  the 
captain,  and  drew  him  in  this  way  into  a  con- 
fidential talk. 

"  I  don't  mind  him  at  all.  Miss  Nina,"  said  Cur- 
tis; "he's  one  of  those  fellows  on  the  Press,  and 
they  are  always  saying  impertinent  things,  to  keep 
their  little  talents  in  wind.  I'll  tell  you,  in  con- 
fidence, how  wrong  he  is.  I  have  just  had  a 
meeting  with  the  Chief  Secretary,  who  told  me 
that  the  Popish  bishops  are  not  at  all  pleased 
with  the  leniency  of  the  Government ;  that,  what- 
ever "healing  measures'  .Mr.  Gladstone  contem- 
plates, ought  to  be  for  the  Church  and  the  ( latho- 
lics  ;  that  the  Fenians  or  the  Nationalists  are  the 
enemies  of  the  Holy  Father;  and  that  the  time 
has  come  for  the  Government  to  hunt  them  down, 
md  give  over  the  rule  of  Ireland  to  the  Cardinal 
and  his  party." 

"That  seerns  to  me  very  reasonable,  and  very 
logical,"  said  Nina. 

"  Well,  it  is  and  it  is  not.  If  you  want  peace 
in  the  rabbit-warren,  you  must  banish  either  the 
rats  or  the  rabbits  :  and  I  suppose  either  tie-  Prot- 
estants or  the  Papists  must  have  it  their  own  way 
here." 


"Then  you  mean  to  capture  this  man  ?" 

"  We  do  —we  are  determined  on  that.     Ami 

what's  more,  I'd  hang  him  if  1  hail  the  power." 
"And  why  ?" 

"Just  because  he  isn't  a  had  fellow!  There's 
no  use  in  hanging  a  had  fellow  iu  Ireland — it 
frightens  nobody  ;    hut  if  you  hang  a  respectable 

man,   a   man    that    has    done    generous    and    tine 
things,  it  produces  a  great  effect  on  society,  and 

is  a  terrible  example." 

"There  may  be  a  deep  wisdom  in  what  you 
say. " 

"Not  that  they'll  mind  me  for  all  that.  It's 
the  men  like  myself.  Miss  Nina,  who  know  Ire 
land  well,  who  know  every  assize  town  in  the 
country,  and  what  the  juries  will  do  in  each,  are 
never  consulted  in  England.  They  say,  '  Let 
Curtis  catch  him — that's  Ins  business.'" 

"And  how  will  you  do  it  ?" 

"I'll  tell  you.  1  haven't  men  enough  to  watch 
all  the  roads;  but  I'll  take  care  to  have  my  peo- 
ple where  he's  least  likely  to  go — that  is,  to  the 
North.  He's  a  cunning  fellow  is  Dan,  and  he'd 
make  for  the  Shannon  if  he  could  ;  but  now  that 
he  knows  we're  after  him,  he'll  turn  to  Antrim 
or  Deny.  He'll  cut  across  Westmeath  and  make 
North,  if  he  gets  away  from  this." 

"That  is  a  very  acute  calculation  of  yours; 
and  where  do  you  suspect  he  may  be  now — I 
mean,  at  this  moment  we're  talking?" 

"He's  not  three  miles  from  where  we're  sit- 
ting," said  he,  in  a  low  whisper,  and  a  cautious 
glance  round  the  table.  "He's  hid  in  the  bog 
outside.  There's  scores  of  places  there  a  man 
could  hide  in,  and  never  be  tracked;  and  there's 
few  fellows  would  like  to  meet  Donogan  single- 
handed.  He's  as  active  as  a  rope-dancer,  and 
he's  as  courageous  as  the  devil." 

"It  would  be  a  pity  to  hang  such  a  fellow." 

"There's  plenty  more  of  the  same  sort — not 
exactly  as  good  as  him,  perhaps,  for  Dan  was 
a  gentleman  once." 

"And  is,  probably,  still?" 

"  It  would  be  hard  for  him,  with  the  rapscall- 
ions he  has  to  live  with,  and  not  five  shillings  in 
his  pocket  besides." 

"  I  don't  know,  after  all,  if  you'll  be  happier  for 
giving  him  up  to  the  law.  He  may  have  a  moth- 
er, a  sister,  a  wife,  or  a  sweetheart." 

"He  may  have  a  sweetheart,  but  I  know  he 
has  none  of  the  others.  He  said,  in  the  dock, 
that  no  man  could  quit  life  at  less  cost  —  that 
there  wasn't  one  to  grieve  after  him." 

"Poor  fellow!   that  was  a  sad  confession." 

"We're  not  all  to  turn  Fenians,  Miss  Nina,  be- 
cause we're  only  children  and  unmarried." 

"You  are  too  clever  for  me  to  dispute  with,'' 
said  she,  in  affected  humility  ;  "  but  I  like  great- 
ly to  hear  you  talk  of  Ireland.  Now,  what  num- 
ber of  people  have  you  here?" 

"I  have  my  orderly,  and  two  men  to  patrol 
the  demesne:  hut  to-morrow  we'll  draw  the  net 
tighter.  We'll  call  in  all  the  party  from  Moate. 
and.  from  information  I  have  got,  we're  sure  to 
track  him." 

"What    confidences    is    Curtis    making    with 

Mademoiselle  Nina?"  said  Atlee,  who,  though  af- 
fecting to  join  the  general  conversation,  had  oev- 

1  er  ceased  to  watch  them. 

'•The  captain  is  telling  me  how  he  put  down 

1  the    Fenians    in    the   rising    of  '61,"  said    Nina, 

|  calmly. 


-02 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


"And  did  he?  I  say,  Curtis,  have  you  really 
suppressed  rebellion  in  Ireland  ?" 

"No;  nor  won't,  Mr.  Joe  Atlee,  till  we  put 
down  the  rascally  Press— the  unprincipled  pen- 
ny-a-liners, that  write  treason  to  pay  for  their 
dinner." 

' '  Poor  fellows ! "  replied  Atlee.  ' '  Let  us  hope 
it  does  not  interfere  with  their  digestion.  But 
seriously,  mademoiselle,  does  it  not  give  you  a 
great  notion  of  our  insecurity  here  in  Ireland 
when  you  see  to  what  we  trust  law  and  order." 

"Never  mind  him,  Curtis,"  said  Kilgobbin. 
"  When  these  fellows  are  not  saying  sharp 
things,  they  have  to  be  silent." 

While  the  conversation  went  briskly  on,  Nina 
contrived  to  glance  unnoticed  at  her  watch,  and 
saw  that  it  wanted  only  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to 
nine.  Nine  was  the  hour  she  had  named  to 
Donogan  to  be  in  the  garden,  and  she  already 
trembled  at  the  danger  to  Tvhieh  she  had  exposed 
him.  She  reasoned  thus :  "  So  reckless  and  fear- 
less is  this  man,  that,  if  he  should  have  come  de- 
termined to  see  me,  and  I  do  not  go  to  meet  him, 
he  is  quite  capable  of  entering  the  house  boldly, 
even  at  the  cost  of  being  captured.  The  very 
price  he  would  have  to  pay  for  his  rashness 
would  be  its  temptation." 

A  sudden  cast  of  seriousness  overcame  her  as 
she  thus  thought,  and  Kate,  perceiving  it,  rose  at 
once  to  retire. 

"You  were  not  ill,  dearest  Nina?  I  saw  you 
grow  pale,  and  I  fancied  for  a  moment  you  seemed 
faint." 

"No;  a  mere  passing  weakness.  I  shall  lie 
down  and  be  better  presently." 

"And  then  you'll  come  up  to  aunt's  room — I 
call  godmother  aunt  now  —  and  take  tea  with 
Gorman  and  us  all." 

"Yes,  I'll  do  that  after  a  little  rest.  I'll  take 
half  an  hour  or  so  of  quiet,"  said  she,  in  broken 
utterances.  "I  suppose  the  gentlemen  will  sit 
over  their  wine ;  there's  no  fear  of  their  break- 
ing up." 

"Very  little  fear,  indeed,"  said  Kate,  laughing 
at  the  word.  "  Papa  made  me  give  out  some  of 
his  rare  old  '41  wine  to-day,  and  they're  not  like- 
ly to  leave  it. " 

"By-by,  then,  for  a  little  while,"  said  Nina, 
dreamily,  for  her  thoughts  had  gone  off  on  an- 
other track.      "  I  shall  join  you  later  on." 

Kate  tripped  gayly  up  the  stairs,  singing  pleas- 
antly as  she  went,  for  hers  was  a  happy  heart  and 
a  hopeful. 

Nina  lingered  for  a  moment  with  her  hand  on 
the  banister,  and  then  hurried  to  her  room. 

It  was  a  still,  cold  night  of  deep  winter,  a  very 
faint  crescent  of  a  new  moon  was  low  in  the  sky, 
and  a  thin  snow-fall,  slightly  crisped  with  frost, 
covered  the  ground.  Nina  opened  her  window 
and  looked  out.  All  was  still  and  quiet  without 
— not  a  twig  moved.  She  bent  her  ear  to  listen, 
thinking  that  on  the  frozen  ground  a  step  might 
perhaps  be  heard,  and  it  was  a  relief  to  her  anx- 
iety when  she  heard  nothing.  The  chill,  cold  air 
that  came  in  through  the  window  warned  her  to 
muffle  herself  well,  and  she  drew  the  hood  of  her 
scarlet  cloak  over  her  head.  Strong-booted,  and 
with  warm  gloves,  she  stood  for  a  moment  at  her 
door  to  listen,  and  finding  all  quiet,  she  slowly 
descended  the  stairs  and  gained  the  hall.  She 
started  affrighted  as  she  entered,  thinking  there 
was  some  one  seated  at  the  table,  but  she  rallied 
in  an  instant,  as  she  saw  it  was  only  the  loose 


horseman's  coat  or  cloak  of  the  chief  constable, 
which,  lined  with  red,  and  with  the  gold-laced  cap 
beside  it,  made  up  the  delusion  that  alarmed  her. 

It  was  not  an  easy  task  to  withdraw  the  heavy 
bolts  and  bars  that  secured  the  massive  door,  and 
even  to  turn  the  heavy  key  in  the  lock  required 
an  effort ;  but  she  succeeded  at  length,  and  is- 
sued forth  into  the  open. 

"How  I  hope  he  has  not  come;  how  I  pray 
he  has  not  ventured," said  she  to  herself  as  she 
walked  along.  "Leave-takings  are  sad  things, 
and  why  incur  one  so  full  of  peril  and  misery 
too !  When  I  wrote  to  him,  of  course  I  knew 
nothing  of  his  danger,  and  it  is  exactly  his  dan- 
ger will  make  him  come!"  She  knew  of  others 
to  whom  such  reasonings  would  not  have  applied, 
and  a  scornful  shake  of  the  head  showed  that  she  * 
would  not  think  of  them  at  such  a  moment.  The 
sound  of  her  own  footsteps  on  the  crisp  ground 
made  her  once  or  twice  believe  she  heard  some 
one  coming,  and,  as  she  stopped  to  listen,  the 
strong  beating  of  her  heart  could  be  counted. 
It  was  not  fear — at  least  not  fear  in  the  sense  of 
a  personal  danger — it  was  that  high  tension  which 
great  anxiety  lends  to  the  nerves,  exalting  vitali- 
ty to  a  state  in  which  a  sensation  is  as  powerful 
as  a  material  influence. 

She  ascended  the  steps  of  the  little  terraced 
mound  of  the  rendezvous,  one  by  one,  over- 
whelmed almost  to  fainting  by  some  imagined 
analogy  with  the  scaffold,  which  might  be  the 
fate  of  him  she  was  going  to  meet. 

He  was  standing  under  a  tree,  his  arms  cross- 
ed on  his  breast,  as  she  came  up.  The  moment 
she  appeared  he  rushed  to  meet  her,  and  throw- 
ing himself  on  one  knee,  he  seized  her  hand  and 
kissed  it. 

"Do  you  know  your  danger  in  being  here?" 
she  asked,  as  she  surrendered  her  hand  to  his 
grasp: 

"I  know  it  all,  and  this  moment  repays  it  ten- 
fold." 

"You  can  not  know  the  full  extent  of  the 
peril ;  you  can  not  know  that  Captain  Curtis  and 
his  people  are  in  the  Castle  at  this  moment,  that 
they  are  in  full  cry  after  you,  and  that  every  av- 
enue to  this  spot  is  watched  and  guarded." 

"What  care  I!  Have  I  not  this ?"  And  he 
covered  her  hand  with  kisses. 

"Every  moment  that  you  are  here  increases 
your  danger,  and  if  my  absence  should  become 
known,  there  will  be  a  search  after  me.  I  shall 
never  forgive  myself  if  my  folly  should  lead  to 
your  being  captured." 

"If  I  could  but  feel  my  fate  was  linked  with 
yours,  I'd  give  my  life  for  it  willingly." 

"It  was  not  to  listen  to  such  words  as  these  1 
came  here." 

"Remember,  dearest,  they  are  the  last  confes- 
sions of  one  you  shall  never  see  more.  They  are 
the  last  cry  of  a  heart  that  will  soon  be  still  forever. " 

"No,  no,  no!" cried  she,  passionately.  "There 
is  life  enough  left  for  you  to  win  a  worthy  name. 
Listen  to  me  calmly  now ;  I  have  heard  from  Cur- 
tis within  the  last  hour  all  his  plans  for  your  cap- 
ture ;  I  know  where  his  patrols  are  stationed,  and 
the  roads  they  are  to  watch." 

"And  did  you  care  to  do  this?"  said  he,  ten- 
derly. 

' '  I  would  do  more  than  that  to  save  you. " 

"Oh,  do  not  say  so!"  cried  he,  wildly,  "or 
you  will  give  me  such  a  desire  to  live  as  will 
make  a  coward  of  me." 


.OKI)  KILGOBBIN. 


203 


"Curtis  suspects  you  will  go  northward;  ei- 
ther lie  has  had  information,  or  computes  it  bom 

what  vim  have  done  already." 

"lie  is  wrong,  then.  When  I  go  hence,  it 
-hall  he  to  the  court-house  at  Tullamore,  where 
I  mean  to  give  myself  up.'' 

'•As  what?" 

••  As  what  I  am — a  rchel,  convicted,  sentenced, 
and  escaped,  and  still  a  rebel." 

••  Yon  do  not.  then,  care  for  life?*' 

••  Do  I  not,  for  such  moments  of  life  as  this:" 
cried  he.  as  with  a  wild  rapture  he  kissed  her 
hand  again  and  again. 

••And  were  I  to  ask  you,  you  would  not  try  to 
save  your  life?" 

"To  share  that  life  with  you  there  is  not  any 
thing  I  would  not  dare.  To  live  and  know  you 
were  another's  is  more  than  I  can  face.  Tell 
me.  Nina,  is  it  true  you  are  to  he  the  wife  of  this 
soldier?     I  can  not  utter  his  name." 

'•  I  am  to  be  married  to  Mr.  Walpole.'' 

"  What !  to  that  contemptuous  young  man  yon 
have  already  told  me  so  much  of?  How  have 
they  brought  you  down  to  this?" 

"There  is  no  thought  of  bringing  down;  his 
rank  and  place  are  above  my  own — he  is  by  fam- 
ily and  connection  superior  to  us  all." 

"And  what  is  he,  or  how  does  he  aspire  to 
you?  Is  the  vulgar  security  of  competence  to 
live  on — is  that  enough  for  one  like  you  ?  is  the 
well-balanced  good-breeding  of  common  polite- 
ness enough  to  fill  a  heart  that  should  be  fed  on 
passionate  devotion  ?  You  may  link  yourself  to 
mediocrity,  but  can  you  humble  your  nature  to 
resemble  it  ?  Do  you  believe  you  can  plod  on 
the  dreary  road  of  life  without  an  impulse  or  an 
ambition,  or  blend  your  thoughts  with  those  of  a 
man  who  has  neither  ?" 

She  stood  still,  and  did  not  utter  a  word. 

"There  are  some — I  do  not  know  if  you  are 
one  of  them  —  who  have  an  almost  shrinking 
dread  of  poverty. " 

"lam  not  afraid  of  poverty." 

"It  has  but  one  antidote,  I  know  —  intense 
love!  The  all-powerful  sense  of  living  for  an- 
other begets  indifference  to  the  little  straits  and 
trials  of  narrow  fortune,  till  the  mind  at  last  comes 
to  feel  how  much  there  is  to  live  for  beyond  the 
indulgence  of  vulgar  enjoyments  ;  and  if,  to  crown 
all,  a  high  ambition  be  present,  there  will  be  an 
ecstasy  of  bliss  no  words  can  measure." 

••  Have  you  failed  in  Ireland  ?"  asked  she,  Sud- 
denly. 

"Failed,  so  far  as  to  know  that  a  rebellion  will 
only  ratify  the  subjection  of  the  country  to  En- 
gland ;  a  reconquest  would  be  slavery.  The 
chronic  discontent  that  burns  in  every  peasant 
heart  will  do  more  than  the  appeal  to  arms.  It 
is  slow,  but  it  is  certain." 

"And  where  is  your  part?" 

"My  part  is  in  another  land;  my  fortune  is 
linked  with  America — that  is,  if  I  care  to  have  a 
fortune." 

"Come,  come,  Donogan,"  cried  she,  calling 
him  inadvertently  by  his  name,  "men  like  you 
do  not  give  up  the  battle  of  life  so  easily.  It  is 
the  very  essence  of  their  natures  to  resist  pressure 
and  defy  defeat." 

"So  I  could;  so  I  am  ready  to  show  myself. 
Give  me  but  hope.  There  are  high  path-  u.  be 
trodden  in  more  than  one  region  of  the  globe. 
There  are  great  prizes  to  be  wrestled  for.  hut  it 
must  be  bv  him  who  would  share  them  with  an- 


other. Tell  me.  Nina,"  said  he,  suddenly,  low- 
ering his  voire  to  a  tone  of  exquisite  tenderne— . 
••  have  you  never,  as  a  little  child,  played  at  thai 
game  of  what  is  called  seeking  your  fortune,  wan- 
dered out  into  some  thick  wood  or  along  a  wind- 
ing rivulet,  to  meet  whatever  little  incident  im- 
agination  illicit   dignify  into  adventure;    and  in 

the  chance  heroism  of  your  situation  have  you 

not  found  an  intense  delimit  ?  And  if  so  in  child- 
hood, why  not  see  if  adult  years  can  not  renew 
the  experience ?  Why  not  see  if  the  great  world 
be  not  as  dramatic  as  the  small  one?  I  should  say 
it  is  still  more  so.      I  know  you  have  courage. 

"And  what  will  couruge  do  for  me?"  asked 
she,  after  a  pause. 

"  For  you,  not  much  ;  for  me,  every  thing." 

"I  do  not  understand  you." 

"I  mean  this — that  if  that  stout  heart  could 
dare  the  venture  and  trust  its  fate  to  me — to  me, 
poor,  outlawed,  and  doomed,  there  would  be  a 
grander  heroism  in  a  girl's  nature  than  ever  found 
home  in  a  man's." 

"And  what  should  I  be?" 

"My  wife  within  an  hour;  my  idol  while  I 
live." 

"  There  are  some  who  would  give  this  another 
name  than  courage,"  said  she,  thoughtfully. 

"Let  them  call  it  what  they  will,  Nina.  Is  it 
not  to  the  unbounded  trust  of  a  nature  that  is 
above  all  others  that  I,  poor,  unknown,  ignoble 
as  I  am,  appeal  when  I  ask — Will  you  be  mine  ? 
One  word — oidy  one  ;  or,  better  still — " 

He  clasped  her  in  Ins  arms  as  he  spoke,  and. 
drawing  her  head  toward  his,  kissed  her  cheek 
rapturously. 

With  wild  and  fervent  words,  he  now  told  her 
rapidly  that  he  had  come  prepared  to  make  her 
the  declaration,  and  had  provided  every  thing,  in 
the  event  of  her  compliance,  for  their  flight.  By 
an  unused  path  through  the  bog  they  should  gain 
the  main  road  to  Maryborough,  where  a  priest 
well  known  in  the  Fenian  interest  would  join 
!  them  in  marriage.  The  officials  of  the  railroad 
were  largely  imbued  with  the  Nationalist  senti- 
ment, and  Donogan  could  be  sure  of  safe  cross- 
ing to  Kilkenny,  where  the  members  of  the  party 
were  in  great  force. 

In  a  very  few  words  he  told  her  how,  by  the 
mere  utterance  of  his  name,  he  could  secure  the 

faithful  services  and  the  devotion  of  the  i pie 

in  every  town  or  village  of  the  kingdom.  "The 
English  have  done  this  for  us,"  cried  he.  "and 
we  thank  them  for  it.  They  have  popularized  re- 
bellion in  a  way  that  all  our  attempts  could  never 
have  accomplished.  How  could  1,  for  instance, 
gain  access  to  those  little  gatherings  at  fair  or  mar- 
ket, in  the  yard  before  the  chapel,  or  the  square 
before  the  court-house — how  could  I  be  able  to 
explain  to  these  groups  of  country  people  what 
we  mean  by  a  rising  in  Ireland  ?  what  we  pur- 
pose by  a  revolt  against  England?  how  it  is  to  he 
carried  on,  or  for  whose  benefit  ?  what  the  prizes 
of  success,  what  the  cost  of  failure?  Yet  the  En- 
glish have  contrived  to  embody  all  these  iii  one 
word,  and  that  word  my  name!" 

There  was  a  certain  artifice,  there  is  no  doubt. 
in  the  way  in  which  this  poorly-clad  ami  not  dis- 
tinguished looking  man  contrived  to  surround  him- 
self with  attributes  of  power  and  influence,  and 
his  self-reliance  imparted  to  his  voice  a-  he  spoke 
a  tone  of  confidence  that  was  actually  dignified. 
And,  besides  this,  there  was  personal  daring,  for 
his  life  was  on  the  hazard,  and  it  was  the  very 


204 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


contingency  of  which  he  seemed  to  take  the  least 
heed. 

Not  less  adroit,  too,  was  the  way  in  which  he 
showed  what  a  shock  and  amazement  her  con- 
duct would  occasion  in  that  world  of  her  acquaint- 
ances— that  world  which  had  hitherto  regarded 
her  as  essentially  a  pleasure-seeker,  self-indulgent 
and  capricious.  "'Which  of  us  all,'  will  they 
say,  '  could  have  done  what  that  girl  has  done  ? 
Which  of  us,  having  the  world  at  her  feet,  her 
destiny  at  her  very  bidding,  would  go  off  and 
brave  the  storms  of  life  out  of  the  heroism  of  her 
own  nature?  How  we  all  misread  her  nature! 
how  wrongfully  and  unfairly  we  judged  her !  In 
what  utter  ignorance  of  her  real  character  was 
every  interpretation  we  made!  How  scornfully 
has  she,  by  one  act,  replied  to  all  our  miscon- 
struction of  her!  What  a  sarcasm  on  all  our 
worldliness  is  her  devotion!'" 

He  was  eloquent  after  a  fashion,  and  he  had, 
above  most  men,  the  charm  of  a  voice  of  singular 
sweetness  and  melody.  It  was  clear  as  a  bell, 
and  he  could  modulate  its  tones  till,  like  the  drip, 
drip  of  water  on  a  rock,  they  fell  one  by  one  upon 
the  ear.  Masses  had  often  been  moved  by  the 
power  of  his  words,  and  the  mesmeric  influence 
of  persuasiveness  was  a  gift  to  do  him  good  serv- 
ice now. 

There  was  much  in  the  man  that  she  liked. 
She  liked  his  rugged  boldness  and  determination ; 
she  liked  his  contempt  for  danger  and  his  self-re- 
liance ;  and,  essentially,  she  liked  how  totally  dif- 
ferent he  was  to  all  other  men.  He  had  not  their 
objects,  their  hopes,  their  fears,  and  their  ways. 
To  share  the  destiny  of  such  a  man  was  to  insure 
a  life  that  could  not  pass  unrecorded.  There 
might  be  storm,  and  even  shipwreck,  but  there 
was  notoriety — perhaps  even  fame ! 

And  how  mean  and  vulgar  did  all  the  others 
she  had  known  seem  by  comparison  with  him ; 
how  contemptible  the  polished  insipidity  of  Wal- 
pole,  how  artificial  the  neatly-turned  epigrams  of 
Atlee.  How  would  either  of  these  have  behaved 
in  such  a  moment  of  danger  as  this  man's  ?  Ev- 
ery minute  he  passed  there  was  another  peril  to 
his  life,  and  yet  he  had  no  thought  for  himself — 
his  whole  anxiety  was  to  gain  time  to  appeal  to 
her.  He  told  her  she  was  more  to  him  than  his 
ambition — she  saw  herself  she  was  more  to  him 
than  life.  The  whirlwind  rapidity  of  his  elo- 
quence also  moved  her,  and  the  varied  arguments 
he  addressed,  now  to  her  heroism,  now  to  her 
self-sacrifice,  now  to  the  power  of  her  beauty, 
now  to  the  contempt  she  felt  for  the  inglorious 
lives  of  commonplace  people — the  ignoble  herd, 
who  passed  unnoticed.  All  these  swayed  her; 
and  after  a  long  interval,  in  which  she  had  heard 
him  without  a  word,  she  said,  in  a  low  murmur 
to  herself,  ' '  I  will  do  it. " 

Uonogan  clasped  her  to  his  heart  as  she  said 
it,  and  held  her  some  seconds  in  a  fast  embrace. 
' '  At  last  I  know  what  it  is  to  love ! "  cried  he, 
with  rapture. 

"Look  there!"  cried  she,  suddenly  disengag- 
ing herself  from  his  arm.  "They  are  in  the 
drawing-room  already.  I  can  see  them  as  they 
pass  the  windows.  I  must  go  back,  if  it  be  for  a 
moment,  as  I  should  be  missed." 

"Can  I  let  you  leave  me  now?"  he  said,  and 
the  tears  were  in  his  eyes  as  he  spoke. 

"I  have  given  you  my  word,  and  you  may 
trust  me,"  said  she,  as  she  held  out  her  hand. 

"  I  was  forgetting  this  document;  this  is  the 


lease  or  the  agreement  I  told  you  of."  She  took 
it,  and  hurried  away. 

In  less  than  five  minutes  afterward  she  was 
among  the  company  in  the  drawing-room. 

"Here  have  I  been  singing  a  rebel  ballad, 
Nina,"  said  Kate,  "and  not  knowing  the  while 
it  was  Mr.  Atlee  who  wrote  it." 

"What,  Mr.  Atlee, "cried  Nina,  "is  the  '  Time 
to  Begin'  yours  ?"  And  then,  without  waiting  for 
his  answer,  she  seated  herself  at  the  piano,  and 
striking  the  chords  of  the  accompaniment  with  a 
wild  and  vigorous  hand,  she  sang — 

If  the  moment  ia  come  and  the  hour  to  need  ns, 
If  we  stand  man  to  man,  like  kindred  and  kin ; 
If  we  know  we  have  one  who  is  ready  to  lead  us, 
What  want  we  for  more  than  the  word  to  begin  ? 

The  wild  ring  of  defiance  in  which  her  clear, 
full  voice  gave  out  these  words  seemed  to  electrify 
all  present,  and  to  a  second  or  two  of  perfect  si- 
lence a  burst  of  applause  followed  that  even  Cur- 
tis, with  all  his  loyalty,  could  not  refrain  from 
joining. 

"Thank  God,  you're  not  a  man,  Miss  Nina!" 
cried  he,  fervently. 

"I'm  not  sure  she's  not  more  dangerous  as  she 
is,"  said  Lord  Kilgobbin.  "There's  people  out 
there  in  the  bog,  starving  and  half-naked,  would 
face  the  Queen's  Guards  if  they  only  heard  her 
voice  to  cheer  them  on.  Take  my  word  for  it, 
rebellion  would  have  died  out  long  ago  in  Ireland 
if  there  wasn't  the  woman's  heart  to  warm  it." 

"  If  it  were  not  too  great  a  liberty,  Mademoi- 
selle Kostalergi,"  said  Joe,  "I  should  tell  you  that 
you  have  not  caught  the  true  expression  of  my 
song.  The  brilliant  bravura  in  which  you  gave 
the  last  line,  immensely  exciting  as  it  was,  is  not 
correct.  The  whole  force  consists  in  the  con- 
centrated power  of  a  fixed  resolve — the  passage 
should  be  subdued." 

An  insolent  toss  of  the  head  was  all  Nina's  re- 
ply, and  there  was  a  stillness  in  the  room,  as, 
exchanging  looks  with  each  other,  the  different 
persons  there  expressed  their  amazement  at  At- 
lee's  daring. 

' '  Who's  for  a  rubber  of  whist  ?"  said  Lord  Kil- 
gobbin, to  relieve  the  awkward  pause.  "Are  you, 
Curtis?    Atlee,  I  know,  is  ready." 

"  Here  is  all  prepared,"  said  Dick.  "  Captain 
Curtis  told  me  before  dinner  that  he  would  not  like 
to  go  to  bed  till  he  had  his  sergeant's  report,  and 
so  I  have  ordered  a  broiled  bone  to  be  ready  at  one 
o'clock,  and  we'll  sit  up  as  late  as  he  likes  after." 

"Make  the  stake  pounds  and  fives,"  cries  Joe, 
"and  I  should  pronounce  your  arrangements  per- 
fection." 

"  With  this  amendment,"  interposed  my  lord, 
"that  nobody  is  expected  to  pay!" 

"I  say,  Joe,"  whispered  Dick,  as  they  drew 
nigh  the  table,  "my  cousin  is  angry  with  you; 
why  have  you  not  asked  her  to  sing  ?" 

"  Because  she  expects  it ;  because  she's  toss- 
ing over  the  music  yonder  to  provoke  it ;  because 
she's  in  a  furious  rage  with  me  :  that  will  be  nine 
points  of  the  game  in  my  favor,"  hissed  he  out 
between  his  teeth. 

"You  are  utterly  wrong — you  mistake  her  al- 
together." 

' '  Mistake  a  woman  !  Dick,  will  you  tell  me 
what  I  do  know,  if  I  do.  not  read  every  turn  and 
trick  of  their  tortuous  nature •?  They  are  oc- 
casionally hard  to  decipher  when  they're  dis- 
pleased. It's  very  big  print  indeed  when  they're 
angry." 


LORD  KILGOBBIN 
ou?"  asked   Nina,  as  Kate 


"  You're  off,  are 
was  about  to  leave. 
••  Xes :   I'm  going  i°  read  to  him." 

"To  read  to  him.'"  said  Nina,  laughing.  "  How 
nice  it  sounds,  when  one  sums  up  all  existence  in 
a  pronoun.  Good-night,  dearest — good-night," 
and  she  kissed  her  twice.       And  then,  as  Kate 


"Are  you  come  to  study  whi-t,  Nina?"  said 

Lord  Kilgobbin,  as  she  drew  nigh  the  table. 

"No,  my  lord.  I  have  no  talent  for  games, 
but  I  like  to  look  at  the  players." 

Joe  touched  Dick  with  his  foot,  and  shot  a 
cunning  glance  toward  him,  as  though  to  say, 
•'  Was  I  not  correct  in  all  I  said?" 


reached  the  door,  she  ran  toward  her,  and  said, 
'•  Kiss  me  again,  my  dearest  Kate  !" 

"I  declare  you  have  left  a  tear  upon  my  cheek," 
said  Kate. 

"  It  was  ahout  all  I  could  give  you  as  a  wed- 
ding present,"  muttered  Nina,  as  she  turned  away. 


"Couldn't  you  sing  us  something,  my  dear? 
we're  not  such  infatuated  gamblers  that  we'll  not 
like  to  hear  you — eh,  Atlee 

"  Well,  my  lord,  I  don't  know,  I'm  not  sure— 
that  is.  I  don't  see  how  a  memory  for  trumps  i- 
to  he  maintained  through  the  fascinating  charm 


206 


LORD  KILGOBBIN. 


of  mademoiselle's  voice.  And  as  for  cards,  it's 
enough  for  Miss  Kostalergi  to  be  in  the  room  to 
make  one  forget  not  only  the  cards,  but  the  Fe- 
nians." 

"If  it  was  only  out  of  loyalty,  then,  I  should 
leave  you !"  said  she,  and  walked  proudly  away. 


CHAPTER  LXXXIV. 

NEXT   MORNING. 

The  whist- party  did  not  break  up  till  nigh 
morning.  The  sergeant  had  once  appeared  at 
the  drawing-room  to  announce  that  all  was  quiet 
without.  There  had  been  no  sign  of  any  rising 
of  the  people,  nor  any  disposition  to  molest  the 
police.  Indeed,  so  peaceful  did  every  thing  look, 
and  such  an  air  of  easy  indifference  pervaded  the 
country,  the  police  were  half  disposed  to  believe 
that  the  report  of  Donogan  being  in  the  neigh- 
borhood was  unfounded,  and  not  impossibly  cir- 
culated to  draw  off  attention  from  some  other 
part  of  the  country. 

This  was  also  Lord  Kilgobbin's  belief.  "The 
man  has  no  friends,  or  even  warm  followers,  down 
here.  It  was  the  merest  accident  first  led  him 
to  this  part  of  the  country,  where,  besides,  we  are 
all  too  poor  to  be  rebels.  It"s  only  down  in  Meath, 
where  the  people  are  well  off,  and  rents  are  not 
too  high,  that  people  can  afford  to  be  Fenians. " 

"While  he  was  enunciating  this  fact  to  Curtis, 
they  were  walking  up  and  down  the  breakfast- 
room,  waiting  for  the  appearance  of  the  ladies  to 
make  tea. 

"I  declare  it's  nigh  eleven  o'clock,"  said  Curtis, 
"and  I  meant  to  have  been  over  two  baronies  be- 
fore this  hour." 

"Don't  distress  yourself,  captain.  The  man 
was  never  within  fifty  miles  of  where  we  are. 
And  why  would  he  ?  It  is  not  the  Bog  of  Allen 
is  the  place  for  a  revolution. " 

"It's  always  the  way  with  the  people  at  the 
Castle,"  grumbled  out    Curtis.      "They    know 


more  of  what's  going  on  down  the  country  than 
we  that  live  there !  It's  one  dispatch  after  an- 
other. Head-Centre  Such-a-one  is  at  the  '  Three 
Cripples.'  He  slept  there  two  nights;  he  swore 
in  fifteen  men  last  Saturday,  and  they'll  tell  you 
where  he  bought  a  pair  of  corduroy  breeches,  and 
what  he  ate  for  his  breakfast — " 

"I  wish  we  had  ours,"  broke  in  Kilgobbin. 
"Where's  Kate  all  this  time?" 

' '  Papa,  papa,  I  want  you  for  a  moment ;  come 
here  to  me  quickly,"  cried  Kate,  whose  head  ap- 
peared for  a  moment  at  the  door.  "  Here's  very 
terrible  tidings,  papa  dearest,"  said  she,  as  she 
drew  him  along  toward  his  study.  "Nina  is 
gone !     Nina  has  ran  away ! " 

" Run  away  for  what?" 

"  Run  away  to  be  married ;  and  she  is  married. 
Read  this,  or  I'll  read  it  for  you.  A  country  boy 
has  just  brought  it  from  Maryborough." 

Like  a  man  stunned  almost  to  insensibility, 
Kearney  crossed  his  hands  before  him,  and  sat 
gazing  out  vacantly  before  him. 

"Can  you  listen  to  me?  can  you  attend  to 
me,  dear  papa  ?" 

"Go  on," said  he,  in  a  faint  voice. 

"  It  is  written  in  a  great  hurry,  and  very  hard 
to  read.  It  runs  thus  :  'Dearest — I  have  no  time 
for  explainings  nor  excuses,  if  I  were  disposed  to 
make  either,  and  I  will  confine  myself  to  a  few 
facts.  I  was  married  this  morning  to  Donogan 
— the  rebel :  I  know  you  have  added  the  word, 
and  I  write  it  to  show  how  our  sentiments  are 
united.  As  people  are  prone  to  put  into  the  lot- 
tery the  numbers  they  have  dreamed  of,  I  have 
taken  my  ticket  in  this  greatest  of  all  lotteries  on 
the  same  wise  grounds.  I  have  been  dreaming 
adventures  ever  since  I  was  a  little  child,  and  it 
is  but  natural  that  I  marry  an  adventurer.'" 

A  deep  groan  from  the  old  man  made  her 
stop  ;  but  as  she  saw  that  he  was  not  changed  in 
color  or  feature,  she  went  on  : 

'"He  says  he  loves  me  very  dearly,  and  that 
he  will  treat  me  well.  I  like  to  believe  both, 
and  I  do  believe  them.  He  says  we  shall  be 
very  poor  for  the  present,  but  that  he  means  to 
become  something  or  somebody  later  on.  I  do 
not  much  care  for  the  poverty,  if  there  is  hope ; 
and  he  is  a  man  to  hope  with  and  to  hope  from. 

"  'You  are,  in  a  measure,  the  cause  of  all, 
since  it  was  to  tell  me  he  would  send  away  all 
the  witnesses  against  your  husband  that  is  to  be, 
that  I  agreed  to  meet  him,  and  to  give  me  the 
lease  which  Miss  O'Shea  was  so  rash  as  to  place 
in  Gill's  hands.     This  I  now  send  you.'" 

"And  this  she  has  sent  you,  Kate?"  asked 
Kilgobbin. 

"Yes,  papa,  it  is  here,  and  the  master  of  the 
Swallows  receipt  for  Gill  as  a  passenger  to  Que- 
bec." 

"Read  on." 

"  There  is  little  more,  papa,  except  what  I  am 
to  say  to  you — to  forgive  her." 

"I  can't  forgive  her.  It  was  deceit — cruel 
deceit. " 

"It  was  not,  papa.  I  could  swear  there  was 
no  forethought.  If  there  had  been  she  would 
have  told  me.  She  told  me  every  thing.  She 
never  loved  Walpole ;  she  could  not  love  him. 
She  was  marrying  him  with  a  broken  heart.  It. 
was  not  that  she  loved  another,  but  she  knew  she 
could  have  loved  another." 

"Don't  talk  such  muddle  to  r«e,"  said  he,  an- 


LOUD  KII.COHHIN. 


207 


gvily.  "You  fancy  Eft  is  to  be  nil  courting,  but 
ir  isn't.  In  house-rent,  and  batchers'  bills  and 
apothecaries',  and  the  pipe-water — its  shoes,  ariti 
schooling,  and  arrears  of  rent,  and  rhenmatism, 
and  flannel  waistcoats,  and  toothache  have  a  con- 
siderable Bpace  in  Paradise!''  And  there  was  a 
grim  comicality  in  his  utterance  of  the  word. 

"She  said  DO  more  than  the  truth  of  herself," 
broke  in  Kate.  "With  all  her  queenly  ways,  she 
COnld  tare  poverty  bravely — 1  know  it.-' 

"So  you  can— any  of  you.  if  a  man's  making 
love  to  you.  You  care  little  enough  what  you 
eat,  and  not  much  more  what  you  wear,  if  he 
tells  you  it  becomes  you  ;  but  that's  not  the  pov. 

erty  that  grinds  and  erushes.  It's  what  eomes 
home  in  sickness;  it's  what  meets  you  in  inso- 
lent letters,  in  threats  of  this  or  menaces  of  that. 
Hut  what  do  you  know  about  it,  or  why  do  I 
speak  of  it  ?  She's  married  a  man  that  could  be 
hanged  if  the  law  caught  him,  and  for  no  other 
reason,  that  I  see.  than  because  he's  a  felon." 

"I  don't  think  you  are  fair  to  her,  papa." 

"Of  course  I'm  not.  Is  it  likely  that  at  sixty 
I  ran  lie  as  great  a  fool  as  I  was  at  sixteen?" 

"So  that  means  that  you  once  thought  in  the 
same  way  that  she  does?" 

"I  didn't  say  any  such  thing,  miss,"  said  he, 
angrily.  "Did  you  tell  Miss  Betty  what's  hap- 
pened us  ?" 

"I  just  broke  it  to  her,  papa,  and  she  made 
me  run  away  and  read  the  note  to  you.  Per- 
haps you'll  come  and  speak  to  her?" 

"  I  will,"  said  he,  rising,  and  preparing  to  leave 
the  room.  "I'd  rather  hear  I  was  a  bankrupt 
this  morning  than  that  news!"  and  he  mounted 
the  stairs,  sighing  heavily  as  he  went. 

"  Isn't  this  fine  news  the  morning  has  brought 
us,  Miss  Betty !"  cried  he,  as  he  entered  the  room 
with  a  haggard  look  and  hands  clasped  before 
him.  "  Did  you  ever  dream  there  was  such  dis- 
grace in  store  for  us  ?" 

"This  marriage  yon  mean,"  said  the  old  lady, 
dryly. 

"Of  course  I  do — if  you  call  it  a  marriage  at  all." 

"I  do  call  it  a  marriage — here's  Father  Tier- 
ney's  certificate,  a  copy  made  in  his  own  hand- 
writing. 'Daniel  Donogan,  M.  P.,  of  Killa- 
moyle,  and  Innismul,  County  Kilkenny,  to  Vir- 
ginia Kostalergi,  of  noplace  in  particular,  daugh- 
ter of  Prince  Kostalergi,  of  the  same  localities, 
contracted  in  holy  matrimony  this  morning  at  six 
o'clock,  and  witnessed  likewise  by  Morris  M'Cabe, 
vestry  clerk— Mary  Kestinogue,  her  mark.'  Do 
you  want  more  than  that?" 

"Do  I  want  moref  Do  I  want  a  respectable 
wedding?  Do  I  want  a  decent  man — a  gentle- 
man— a  man  tit  to  maintain  her?  Is  this  the 
way  she  ought  to  have  behaved?  Is  this  what 
we  thought  of  her?" 

"It  is  not,  Maurice  Kearney — you  say  truth. 
I  never  believed  so  well  of  her  till  now. "  I  nev- 
er believed  before  that  she  had  any  thing  in  her 
head  but  to  catch  one  of  those  English  puppies, 
with  their  soft  voices  and  their  sneers  about 
Ireland.  I  never  saw  her  that  she  wasn't  trying 
to  flatter  them  and  to  please  them,  and  to  sing 
them  down,  as  she  called  it  herself— tin?  rery 
name  fit  for  it !  And  that  she  had  the  high  heart 
to  take  a  man  not  only  poor,  but  with  a  rope 
round  his  neck,  shows  me  how  I  wronged  her. 
I  could  give  her  five  thousand  this  morning  to 
make  her  a  dowry,  and  to  prove  how  I  honor  her." 


"Can  any  one  tell  who  he  is?  What  do  we 
know  of  him  ? " 

"All  Ireland  knows  of  him  ;  and,  after  all. 
Maurice  Kearney,  she  has  only  done  what  her 
mother  did  before  her." 

"  Poor  Matty!"  said  Kearney,  as  he  drew  his 
hand  across  his  eves. 

"Ay,  ay!  Poor  Matty,  if  you  like ;  but  Mat- 
ty was  a  beauty  run  to  seed,  and,  like  the  rest  of 
them,  she  married  the  first  good-looking  vaga- 
bond she  saw.  Now,  this  girl  was  in  the  very- 
height  and  bloom  of  her  beauty,  and  she  took  a 
fellow  for  other  qualities  than  his  whiskers  or  his 
legs.  They  tell  me  he  isn't  even  well-looking — 
so  that  I  have  hopes  of  her." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Kearney,  "he  has  done 
you  a  good  turn,  any  how — he  has  got  Peter  (Jill 
out  of  the  country." 

"And  it's  the  one  thing  that  I  can't  forgive 
him,  Maurice — just  the  one  thing  that's  fretting 
me  now.  I  was  living  in  hopes  to  see  that  scoun- 
drel Peter  on  the  table,  and  Counselor  Holmes 
bating  him  in  a  cross-examination.  1  wanted  to 
see  how  the  lawyer  wouldn't  leave  him  a  rag  of 
character  or  a  strip  of  truth  to  cover  himself  with. 
How  he'd  tear  off  his  evasions,  and  confront  him 
with  his  own  lies,  till  he  wouldn't  know  what  he 
was  saying  or  where  he  was  sitting!  I  wanted 
to  hear  the  description  he  would  give  of  him  to 
the  jury ;  and  I'd  go  home  to  my  dinner  after 
that,  and  not  wait  for  the  verdict." 

"All  the  same,  I'm  glad  we're  rid  of  Peter." 

"  Of  course  you  are.  You're  a  man,  and  well- 
pleased  when  your  enemy  runs  away;  but,  if  you 
were  a  woman,  Maurice  Kearney,  you'd  rather 
he'd  stand  out  boldly  and  meet  you,  and  tight  his 
battle  to  the  end.  But  they  haven't  done  with 
me  yet.  I'll  put  that  little  blackguard  attorney. 
that  said  my  letter  was  a  lease,  into  Chancery ; 
and  it  will  go  hard  with  me  if  I  don't  have  him 
struck  off  the  rolls.  There's  a  small  legacy  of 
five  hundred  pounds  left  me  the  other  day,  and, 
with  the  blessing  of  Providence,  the  Common 
Pleas  shall  have  it.  Don't  shake  your  head, 
Maurice  Kearney.  I'm  not  robbing  any  one. 
Your  daughter  will  have  enough  and  to  spare — " 

"Oh,  godmother!"  cried  Kate,  imploringly. 

"  It  wasn't  I,  my  darling,  that  said  the  five 
hundred  would  be  better  spent  on  wedding-clothes 
or  house-linen.  That  delicate  and  refined  sug- 
gestion was  your  father's.  It  was  his  lordship 
made  the  remark." 

It  was  a  fortunate  accident  at  that  conjuncture 
that  a  servant  should  announce  the  arrival  of  Mr. 
Flood,  the  Tory  J.  P.,  who,  hearing  of  Donogan's 
escape,  had  driven  over  to  confer  with  his  broth- 
er-magistrate. Lord  Kilgobbin  was  not  sorry  to 
quit  the  field,  where  he'd  certainly  earned  few 
laurels,  and  hastened  down  to  meet  his  colleague. 


CHAPTEB  LXXXV. 

Tin:   B1TD. 

Wim. a  the  two  justices  and  Curtis  discussed 

the  unhappy  condition  of  Ireland,  and  deplored 
the  fact  that  the  law-breaker  never  appealed  in 
vain  to  the  sympathies  of  a  people  whose  instincts 
were  adverse  lo  discipline,  [flood's  estimate  of 
Donogan  went  very  far  to  reconcile  Kilgobbin  to 
Nina's  marriage. 


208 


LORD  KILGOBBIX. 


"Out  of  Ireland,  you'll  see  that  man  has  stuff 
in  him  to  rise  to  eminence  and  station.  All  the 
qualities  of  which  home  manufacture  would  only 
make  a  rebel,  will  combine  to  form  a  man  of  in- 
finite resource  and  energy  in  America.  Have 
you  never  imagined,  Mr.  Kearney,  that,  if  a  man 
were  to  employ  the  muscular  energy  to  make  his 
way  through  a  drawing-room  that  he  would  use 
to  force  his  passage  through  a  mob,  the  effort 
would  be  misplaced,  and  the  man  himself  a  nui- 
sance ?  Our  old  institutions,  with  all  their  faults, 
have  certain  ordinary  characteristics  that  answer 
to  good-breeding  and  good-manners — reverence 
for  authority,  respect  for  the  gradations  of  rank, 
dislike  to  civil  convulsion,  and  such  like.  We 
do  not  sit  tamely  by  when  all  these  are  threat- 
ened with  overthrow ;  but  there  are  countries 
where  there  are  fewer  of  these  traditions,  and 
men  like  Donogan  find  their  place  there." 

While  they  debated  such  points  as  these  within 
doors,  Dick  Kearney  and  Atlee  sat  on  the  steps 
of  the  hall  door  and  smoked  their  cigars. 

"  I  must  say,  Joe,"  said  Dick,  "  that  your  ac- 
customed acuteness  cuts  but  a  very  poor  figure  in 
the  present  case.  It  was  no  later  than  last  night 
you  told  me  that  Nina  was  madly  in  love  with 
you.  Do  you  remember,  as  we  went  up  stairs  to 
bed,  what  you  said  on  the  landing  ?  '  That  girl 
is  my  own.  I  may  marry  her  to-morrow  or  this 
day  three  months.'  " 
"And  I  was  right." 

"So  right  were  you  that  she  is  at  this  moment 
the  wife  of  another!" 

' '  And  can  not  you  see  why  ?" 
1 '  I  suppose  I  can  ;  she  preferred  him  to  you, 
and  I  scarcely  blame  her." 

"No  such  thing;    there  was  no  thought  of 
preference  in  the  matter.     If  you  were  not  one 
of  those  fellows  who  mistake  an  illustration,  and 
see  every  thing  in  a  figure  but  the  parallel,  I 
should  say  that  I  had  trained  too  finely.     Now, 
had  she  been  thorough-bred,  I  was  all  right :  as 
a  cock-tail,  I  was  all  wrong!" 
"  I  own  I  can  not  follow  you." 
"Well,  the  woman  was  angry,  and  she  married 
that  fellow  out  of  pique." 
"Out  of  pique?" 

"I  repeat  it.  It  was  a  pure  case  of  temper. 
I  would  not  ask  her  to  sing.  I  even  found  fault 
with  the  way  she  gave  the  rebel  ballad.  I  told 
her  there  was  an  old  lady — Americanly  speaking 
— at  the  corner  of  College  Green,  who  enunciated 
the  words  better,  and  then  I  sat  down  to  whist, 
and  would  not  even  vouchsafe  a  glance  in  return 
for  those  looks  of  alternate  rage  or  languishment 
she  threw  across  the  table.  She  was  frantic.  I 
saw  it.  There  was  nothing  she  wouldn't  have 
done.  I  vow  she'd  have  married  even  you  at 
that  moment.  And  with  all  that,  she'd  not  have 
done  it  if  she'd  been  '  clean-bred.'  Come,  come, 
don't  flare  up,  and  look  as  if  you'd  strike  me. 
On  the  mother's  side  she  was  a  Kearney,  and  all 
the  blood  of  loyalty  in  her  veins  ;  but  there  must 
have  been  something  wrong  with  the  Prince  of 
Delos.  Dido  was  very  angry,  but  her  breeding 
saved  her:  she  didn't  take  a  head-centre  because 
she  quarreled  with  iEneas." 

"You  are,  without  exception,  the  most  con- 
ceited—" 

"No,  not  ass — don't  say  ass,  for  I'm  nothing 


of  the  kind.  Conceited,  if  you  like,  or  rather  if 
your  natural  politeness  insists  on  saying  it,  and 
Can  not  distinguish  between  the  vanity  of  a  puppv 
and  the  self-consciousness  of  real  power;  but 
come,  tell  me  of  something  pleasanter  than  all 
this  personal  discussion — how  did  mademoiselle 
convey  her  tidings?  have  you  seen  her  note? 
was  it  '  transport  ?'  was  it  high-pitched,  or  apolo- 
getic ?" 

"  Kate  read  it  to  me,  and  I  thought  it  reason- 
able enough.     She  had  done  a  daring  thing,  and 
she  knew  it ;  she  hoped  the  best,  and  in  any  case 
she  was  not  faint-hearted." 
"Any  mention  of  me?" 
"  Not  a  word — your  name  does  not  occur." 
"I  thought  not;  she  had  not  pluck  for  that. 
Poor  girl,  the  blow  is  heavier  than  I  meant  it." 

"She  speaks  of  Walpole;  she  incloses  a  few- 
lines  to  him,  and  tells  my  sister  where  she  will 
find  a  small  packet  of  trinkets  and  such-like  he 
had  given  her." 

"Natural  enough  all  that.  There  was  no 
earthly  reason  why  she  shouldn't  be  able  to  talk 
of  Walpole  as  easily  as  of  Colenso  or  the  cattle- 
plague  ;  but  you  see  she  could  not  trust  herself 
to  approach  my  name." 

"You'll  provoke  me  to  kick  you,  Atlee." 
"In  that  case  I  shall  sit  where  I  am.  But  I 
was  going  to  remark  that  as  I  shall  start  for  town 
by  the  next  train,  and  intend  to  meet  Walpole. 
if  your  sister  desires  it,  I  shall  have  much  pleas- 
ure in  taking  charge  of  that  note  to  his  address." 
"All  right,  I'll  tell  her.  I  see  that  she  and 
Miss  Betty  are  about  to  drive  over  to  O'Shea's 
Barn,  and  I'll  give  your  message  at  once." 

While  Dick  hastened  away  on  his  errand,  Joe 
Atlee  sat  alone,  musing  and  thoughtful.  I  have 
no  reason  to  presume  my  reader  cares  for  his 
reflections,  nor  to  know  the  meaning  of  a  strange 
smile,  half  scornful  and  half  sad,  that  played  upon 
his  face.  At  last  he  rose  slowly,  and  stood  look- 
ing up  at  the  grim  old  Castle,  and  its  quaint  blend- 
ing of  ancient  strength  and  modem  deformity. 
"Life  here,  I  take  it,  will  go  on  pretty  much  as 
before.  All  the  acts  of  this  drama  will  resemble 
each  other,  but  my  own  little  melodrama  must 
open  soon.  I  wonder  what  sort  of  house  there 
will  be  for  Joe  Atlee's  benefit  ?" 

Atlee  was  right.  Kilgobbin  Castle  fell  back 
to  the  ways  in  which  our  first  chapter  found  it, 
and  other  interests — especially  those  of  Kate's 
approaching  marriage — soon  effaced  the  memory 
of  Nina's  flight  and  runaway  match.  By  that 
happy  law  by  which  the  waves  of  events  follow 
and  obliterate  each  other,  the  present  glided  back 
into  the  past,  and  the  past  faded  till  its  colors 
grew  uncertain. 

On  the  second  evening  after  Nina's  departure. 
Atlee  stood  on  the  pier  of  Kingston  as  the  packet 
drew  up  at  the  Jetty.  Walpole  saw  him.  and 
waved  his  hand  in  friendly  greeting.  "What 
news  from  Kilgobbin  ?"  cried  he,  as  he  landed. 

"  Nothing  very  rose-colored,"  said  Atlee,  as  he 
handed  the  note. 

"Is  this  true?"  said  Walpole,  as  a  slight  tre- 
mor shook  his  voice. 
"All  true." 

"Isn't  it  Irish  ?— Irish  the  whole  of  it?" 
"So  they  said  down  there,  and,  stranger  than 
all,  they  seemed  rather  proud  of  it." 


THE    END. 


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